#like idk if i can express how exhausting it is to like something but ur brain forces u to think abt it all the time and feel guilty abt

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[hearts-4-vicky]

I have this brainrot for gp!Wonyoung and sensitive reader! You’re so cute for her, you’d promise her that you can take her dick without her finger prepping you first but once she pushes her big dick into your tight cunt, you start to tear up!! :(( You want to be her good girl so you just lay there and let her dick stretch you out until you she was exhausted. She’d purposely overstimulate you, watching how your tears ran down your pretty face and how you were gasping and whiny out because it was too much for you making you squirt all over her pelvis!

ANON MY LOVE OMGGGGGG DOM WONYYYY IM GOING FERAL😍😍😍😍😍😍

warnings: g!pwonyoung, dom wonyoung, soft wonyoung then she switches up🙏😭, wonyoung whimpers!!!!, wony refers to reader as ynnie and some pet names, sensitive reader, sub reader, unprotected sex, wony has a BIG dick, degradation near the end, overstimulation, creampies, marking, breeding, boob grabbing, squirting, dacryphilia, dirty talk, tummy bulge, (first dom wony post😝)

how do u even write moans like idk how u describe them😭🙏

Wonyoung had always been scared of hurting you🥺she knows shes big and just wants you to feel good🫶🏼 so when she starts to rub your pussy, fingers ready to penetrate your hole, you hold her hand in place. Shes so worried that she crossed a boundary that you see her lips tremble as she looks back at you with wide, curious eyes!! “Is something wrong? Do you wanna stop? We don’t have to do this tonight!” sweet girl only cares for ur pleasure and was ready to get rid of her boner by herself 🥺 “No! I want this! but I don’t need prep, baby, I can handle it” you pull her closer, her boner resting against your inner thigh

“Are you sure? Not to brag but I’m pretty big, ynnie…” her hand finding your thigh, drawing shapes with the softest touch of her finger🥺 “Yes baby, I trust you, so please, fuck me til I can’t walk.” Wonyoung’s face grew red at your words! you’ve never said anything like that before! it got her dick harder if that was even possible😛 with a nod, she grabbed her dick out of her boxers and started rubbing herself on your waiting lips. she starts to push her cock in you, watching your expression change

Wonyoung thinks you’re so cute trying to take all of her! strained moans spilled out of your mouth as she was “pretty girl being s-so! mmgh- good for me! taking all of my cock in her t-tight lil cunt!” she moans, your tightness was on a whole other level, squeezing her dick👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 you were getting too tight as she pushed more of her cock in you.🥺 “B-baby… fuck.. relax your body a bit- shit! so tight…” you steady your breathing, giving wonyoung more space to move. she looks down to your pussy, seeing how tiny it was compared to her throbbing cock, turning her on even more😍

finally getting her full length in, you let out a moan👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 her tip kisses your cervix😛with each breath she took, she moved a bit which nearly had you in tears ( in a good say i SWEAR🙏🙏🙏🙏)

She pulls her hips back slowly, before pushing forward again faster💥💥💥 her pace quickens as your whines and moans got louder. the sound of her balls slapping against your ass had gotten louder and more frequent😛 wony was a moaning mess as well, your cunt was still tight as fuck, but not to the point where it hurt. every thrust felt like it would be her last, every clench of your pussy around her cock nearly brought her over the edge😍 but she wanted you to cum first, your pleasure was her priority. she needed to distract herself with something

Leaning down to your neck, she presses kisses all over🥺 finding you sweet spot, she gives it kitten licks, before full on making out with your neck💀 drilling her dick inside of you as if she was a virgin getting off for the first time (crazy🤯🤯🤯🤯) your whines and moans soon drowned out the wet slapping sound and wonyoungs moans as well👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 “f-fuck! wonyoung PLEASE!! ah! I-I’m close!” you felt a knot in your stomach, it got tighter with each slam of her dick in your cunt🔥 “Me too! Cum for me baby! Shit!-“ you were squirming under her, back arched and squirting while nearly blacking out🥺 wony let herself shoot all of her warm load into your needy pussy, moving her lips to yours and initiating a passionate kiss💋😛 riding both your highs came to a stop, both of you in a daze

“Fuck wony, that was so goo-“

“You think we’re done?”

Wonyoung started to thrust herself back into you slowly

Some rounds later n you came a total of 10 times (praying for u babes🙏) nearly passing out with every orgasm😭 wonyoung had basically made your pussy remember the shape of her dick, to the point no one else could enter, only her😍 wony never slowed down her pace, giving you harder thrusts whenever she came🥺 “w-wony!! mm ha! hurts!! c-can’t take anymoreeeE!” your sobs grew louder, turning into squeals as wonyoung started jackhammering into your abused cunt🥺🥺🥺🥺 your face full of your tears, vision blurry as your crying “You look so fuck- p-pretty right now, my love. My personal, gah! fucktoy” wonyoung takes notice of how you clench around her after saying that, so she tries something. quickening her pace a bit, she leans down to your ear, moving her hands to your tits to use them as handles

“Oh? you like that? Like being degraded like the fucking whore you are? Too impatient to get prepped that you just wanted my big, fat cock up your pretty little fuckhole? what would the girls think? seeing you get used like a sex doll?” you and wonyoung never expected what happened next. so turned on by wonyoung’s words, you threw your head back, feeling ecstasy all over your body. the liquid gushing out of your pussy was strong, soaking both of you. “Oh fuck…” wony mumbled before slamming herself in you one last time😝 she halts her movements, only the steady rise and fall of her chest is noticeable as her balls spill all of its worth into your already full womb🥺 the bulge in your stomach made her smirk. she pumped you full of her seed, she got to see you so vulnerable, she was the only one who could fuck you like this. you looked back at her, breathing heavily. wonyoung giggled at how cute you were, neck adorned with hickeys and eyes so lost in thought🥺

“Are you alright my love? D-did I go too far?”

“Jang Wonyoung if you don’t do that next time we fuck, I’m making you do No Nut November.”

“But-“

“Shh, I’m tired now, hug me.”

“wha- okay…”

“hey ynnie i got a boner too, me next-“

“YUJIN WHAT THE FUCK.”

i need to write more dom or switch wony cuz like😍😍😍WOWOWOW that girl does something to me🤐 yujinnie makes me giggle (i want her too)

thank you for the request my love!

stay safe and love ya lots

-Vicky💋

[hobie-enthusiast]

ANON: 'Hobie def seems like he knows sign language not just for communicating with those who are non-hearing/non-verbal but even just to communicate with others that are not within hearing distance in an emergency

(Idk if this is actually canon but if not then it’s a personal bc I had for Hobie that I just really wanted to share with someone 😭)'

NO UR SO RIGHT ANON AND IM GONNA DELVE AND ELABORATE ON THIS!

hobie’s line of work requires him to jump language barriers. he knows his accent isn’t easy to understand so he knows how to translate some of his words so others can understand him.

he learned sign language while he was homeless, interacting with others from many different backgrounds. hobie utilizes it A LOT. sign language makes it easy for him to communicate and also express how he feels.

when fighting with his normal spider society teammates, he’ll teach them some key signs and terms he’ll sign to them when in combat or in stealth missions. this makes communication easier in long distance situations, and even helps catch the enemy off guard!

often times, hobie finds himself signing at his concerts. whenever he speaks or says words before his songs, he signs whatever he says with it. he wants to ensure everyone knows what’s happening and can enjoy the concert to its fullest.

he’s also the biggest advocate for everyone learning sign language. he hates how the world is set up to where those who need sign language are stuck behind a barrier, and wants that to change.

in a relationship, both you and hobie use sign language in cases either of you go non-verbal!

when hobie goes non-verbal, it’s because he’s exhausted. his day consists of fighting enemies, fascists, and corrupt government. of course he’s tired! when tired he’ll opt to sign as communication, too tired to even speak at that point. if you know sign language, perfect! please use it to communicate with him, it’s important to him. if you don’t, that’s okay! he’s your teacher now, teaching you all about the language and the culture with it.

whether you are mute, go non-verbal, or are someone with hearing loss, communication is never an issue with him. he knows how to sign effectively and efficiently, his communication and understand skills in sign language being amazing for someone self-taught. hobie always wants you to know that communication is never an issue.

even if you don’t require sign language, hobie is still going to use it. he uses it when he talks regularly, and its important to him you understand and maybe use it too.

he loves signing i love you. whether you both sign it with arms crossed over your hearts, or use the handshape to signify it, it’s still regularly used between you two. it’s something he appreciates greatly.

(also another little thing but he LOVES the sound his rings make against each other when he signs. i love the sound my rings make so im PROJECTING)

overall, sign language is an important part of hobie’s life. he wants everyone to be able to talk to him, get to know him. because no one deserves to not be understood solely because they know a different language than them!

SORRY WITH HOW INSANE I WENT W THIS ANON THIS WAS REALLY IMPORTANT TO ME!! i have a hard time understanding or comprehending what people say sometimes, and sign language is something i tend to use daily. this ask made me SO HAPPY <33

[wiltkingart]

hey wilt 🌈 been going thru ur account this morning (apologies for possibly spamming ur notifs with likes etc) and I know you get so many of these messages but like. Idk how to communicate to you how incredible your art is. You said somewhere that colour is possibly one of the weakest parts about your art and I was like. Stunned. Bc the way you use colour .... 👀🤯😱🥵🥴🔥🔥🔥 Like. I have somewhat of a background in art history and your work feels like it could really comfortably sit alongside Michaelangelo (also bc he was gay hehe) etc. Like. Idk. Do you realise how incredible your work is???? I'm shaking you. It's literally like. Wow. I mean you must know from the other messages bc the power it has to inspire ppl to read certain media or draw things or even start hrt. Anyway. I'm shocked to my core and forever changed after this morning even tho I've been following you for a long while. I hope this doesn't come across as like patronising (the bit where I ask if you realise how good you are) bc that's not my intention at all I'm just like. In awe and basking in the glow of your brilliance and I have a really complex relationship with making art myself and almost never use colour for many reasons but I feel So inspired to make after looking at your work which is really rare for me. Idk. Your work is joyful, glittering, maddening, hopeful, inspiring, beautiful etc etc etc etc. So much love to you I hope 2023 is being good to you so far 💓💓💓💖💞

not patronizing at all! i actually haven't felt the greatest about my art lately because my health has been hanging onto the edge of a gutter. it can be exhausting to keep fighting back negative thoughts alongside other physical issues. but i know these thoughts aren't true, and i'm hanging in there. through force of will i'm getting through it :') (and starting new meds soon!)

when i say color is my weakest element i mean that it's the part i struggle the most with. i don't have a solid grasp on how it works, so i have to rely on intuition and lately i've been using more references. i feel the most limited by color due to my shaky understanding of it. it takes a lot of time and experimentation with every piece to find something that feels good. but color is a very complex element! and i can only get better thru time and perseverance, and trying to absorb as much information as i can from the refs i use.

i don't think i'll ever have a scientific understanding of color or even enough solid ground to be someone who can make tutorials or explain it to other people. but on the flipside that means i can keep using colors i like even if that means they don't make sense. there's a charm in the unnatural! there's expression in existing outside the rules! as long as i keep taking risks and keep my mind open to learning, and use colors that make me smile, i'll be alright.

thanks for the incredibly kind message, it was very unexpected especially since i haven't posted much art for a long time. i'm hopeful that spring will be a good time for me. well wishes to you and yours, and i hope that creation can become a source of freedom for you rather than complexity. if the rules don't make sense, make your own <3

[seriouslysnape]

To the Limit

__

Severus Snape x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Slight smut. Use of safeword. Language.

Request: Hi! Can u make Severus × Reader when the reader use the safe words for the first time because idk maybe it's too much for the reader that day or smth else you like..Thankyouu 💕💕 love ur writings btw ❤❤

A/N: Here we gooooooo. Reminder, everything is consensual.

Word Count: 2,947

“Okay, darling. Whatever you want.”

__

Severus has always been flexible in the bedroom. Yes, Severus Snape is versatile in the sheets and has more love making skills than you originally would’ve given him credit for. Sex with Severus can range anywhere from slow and careful where praising your body is his main objective, to fucking you so mercilessly that stars are dotting the back of your eyelids with each hard thrust.

Sometimes, you don’t have to establish what kind of theme your sessions will take on. If Severus comes home angry from a long, obnoxious day then you very well know that a rough fucking will get it out of his system. When you’ve just watched one of your favorite romantic drama Muggle movies that have sent you into tears, he knows that something more unhurried is in order so you are reminded of how much he loves you.

Other times though, there isn’t really anything that determines the kind of sex you’ll be having. If the mood is right for both of you, then you often will just figure it out from there. 

Severus’ return on Friday night from a long week of classes was coated with his desire for you. You could practically feel the hard sexual tension radiating off of his whole being. From the moment he walked in the door, you knew what tonight would hold for the both of you. More than likely, it’d be a whole lot of rutted fucking and orgasms until neither of you had any stamina left to give. Normally, a seed of excitement would be planted and begin to grow in your core at the thought of being touched by him, but you didn’t feel it this time. 

It had been a bad week to put it simply. Work was weighing you down and you had taken more hits than you were used to in a five day time period. Exhaustion had riddled you, and stress has gotten the best of you. Emotional breakdown was the only way you could describe how you were feeling. You really weren’t feeling up to what Severus wanted to do. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to deny him when his hands and lips were on you, moving to all his favorite places on you.

His voice was silky smooth in your ears as he uplifted you with how he had been thinking about you all day, and how he wanted to be with you when you weren’t around. It wasn’t Severus’ fault that you had a bad week, and it surely wasn’t all his fault that he was this turned on. The way he gripped your legs with his strong hands was an indicator that he wanted to go well into the night, which your tired state wasn’t a fan of. But you loved Severus, and you always wanted him to be happy and well pleased. So you figured you could handle a couple of coarse rounds to satisfy him.

Oh, how wrong you were.

Once access was granted, Severus leapt onto you without hesitation. A tornado of clothes being removed whirled around the room, your shirt and pants ended up on complete opposite sides of the room. Hot and unruly kisses were shared, marks were left on your necks, and no part of you went unattended. 

Admittedly, the first orgasm was actually enjoyable. Severus’ fingers were knuckle deep in your needy cunt and pumping vigorously as he found all the best spots. The strenuous activity melted some of the week’s stress from your conscience, your mind being stripped of all your worry as it clouded with ecstasy. Severus thrived off of the moans and noises of delight that he was drawing out of your throat, perfecting his movements to give you an even stronger release. Severus worked you to your finish as you came around his fingers, slicking them with arousal and relief. 

He left lazy kisses over your breasts while you took a moment to recover, preparing yourself for the next round that was undoubtedly on its way. Tiredness had plagued you long before Severus had even walked through the door, and you had suddenly been robbed of even more energy, so you were confident that you might not get a proper orgasm this second time. But the moment Severus slid you onto his dick and stretched your walls the way only he knew how to, you knew that you were going to cum whether you felt like you could handle it or not.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to. You loved seeing Severus so enraptured in waves of pleasure and gratification, but you were beyond fatigued. Still, you bounced up and down on his lap over and over again, your already sensitive clit throbbing with each rub of his fingers. Severus’ other hand guided your hip movements to meet the way he thrusted up into you, hitting your g-spot just right.

When you came this time, your sound of release was more of a strained cry than a content sound. Severus didn’t seem to notice, since he was too focused on the intoxicating feeling of filling you with his own finish. You popped off of him before he was even emptied out, the rest of his fluids landing on your inner thighs. You fell onto the bed next to him, your breathing much heavier than usual. 

You were totally tuckered out with absolutely no hope of another round. Your muscles ached and your bones were wiped out. Although, you felt a queasy feeling of despair when you saw that familiar look of lust in Severus’ eyes. He spoke lowly, his voice echoing in your ringing ears.

“I’m not through with you yet, love.” He purred.

Usually that would’ve sent a whole mess of arousal through you, but you were too worn out. But Severus usually didn’t last more than three rounds, so this would for sure be the last one. You thought you could push through so he could at least get his release, but this third go round wasn’t a good feeling for you at all.

With your arms above your head and the pillowcase below your head in your fingers’ death grip, you turned your head to the side to fight through his persistent hard fucking into you. On a better day, you’d be all over this and relishing every moment. But now your eyes were screwed tightly shut in discomfort, for each time you opened them Severus would only be able to see the whites of your eyes. The thumping heartbeat in your ears was deafening and your entire body was stiff and rigid, but not in a good way. You wanted to tough it out so at least Severus could finish, but it was just too much for you tonight. 

You had to tap out.

“Polyjuice!” You squeaked out, your voice raspy.

In an instant, you saw any expression of lust wiped straight from his face. He pulled out the millisecond that the word registered in his head, his face stricken with worry and concern at the first time use of your agreed safe word. Severus’ heart dropped at your whimpers of displeasure, his brain reeling and raking over what had gone wrong. 

“[Y/N], what’s wrong? What happened?” He asked frantically.

“I-I just...”

Shaky breaths and uncomfortable whines were the only noises you could seem to make. You sat up from where you were laying down, bringing your knees to your chest and hiding your face as you began to cry. Your emotions were all over the place, and it didn’t help that you were overstimulated and overworked. Severus went to pull you to him, but withdrew his hand. Upsetting you further would absolutely crush him, but he needed to know that you were okay.

“Can I touch you, darling?” He whispered out.

The yowl of approval was enough for him to feel fine with carefully wrapping his hand under your arm and dragging you across the mattress to where he was kneeling on the middle of the bed. He pulled the covers over your skin to keep you from getting cold from the loss of heat from being active. You buried your head into his bare chest, your tears leaking and falling down his skin. 

“I’m sorry, Sev. I’m really sorry.” You sobbed, your hair sticking to your sweaty skin.

“No, no, no. Don’t ever be sorry for telling me to stop when you’re not comfortable,” He reassured; “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

The shake of your head brought relief upon him, but he was still worried. He rocked you in his arms until your sobs died down enough to where you were coherent. Severus was getting ready to ask you once more what was wrong, shifting you so he could see your face. When moving you, his hand accidentally brushed against your swollen, sensitive clit and you wailed out pathetically. Severus’ pale face went even whiter.

“Oh, my love...I worked you too hard, didn’t I?” He queried.

Severus would always admit that sometimes he’d get into the zone and completely drown everything else out. He wouldn’t really be able to tell how hard he was pulling in and out. It was rare, but from time to time you’d have to ask him to soften his thrusts or slow his pace when he got too rowdy. But you had never asked him to stop completely until now. He feared that he had seriously pushed you over the edge this time.

“It’s not just that.” You confessed with a sniff.

Severus had drawn your head back to gaze into your bleary eyes. The tear tracks being swiped away with his thumbs as he cradled your face. 

“What is it then, sweetheart?” He asked with wonder.

A fresh set of salty tears pooled and fell down your cheeks, but for a different reason.

“I’ve had a horrible week. Nothing has gone right,” You explained croakily; “I wanted to make you feel good and I thought it might make me feel better...but I’m just exhausted and I couldn’t handle it tonight.”

You fell apart into another set of choking sobs and gut wrenching cries, prompting Severus to bring you back into his chest. He stroked your skin and left kisses so light that they were ghostly. 

“It’s alright, angel. I wish you had told me before that you weren’t feeling up to it,” He consoled; “You’re worth so much more than sex. I want you to tell me sooner next time if you’re uncomfortable.”

Your nod of understanding offered a wash of comfort over him that you were calming down steadily. He hated that this happened. He knew that was the whole reason for your established safe word for when things went south or things got dicey. He just never thought you’d ever have to use it. He felt absolutely terrible. 

“I’m sorry, Sevvy. I really wanted you to get off, I just-”

“Please don’t apologize for this. This is my fault. I should’ve seen how tired you were and how I was being overly hard,” He said; “I’m the one that should be sorry.”

The sniffles from your nose had increased as you tried to flush down all the drainage from your crying. Your tears had stopped as you sat up from his body, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. The red blotches in your puffy eyes were pinging at Severus’ already guilty conscience. He saw the littered hickeys across your neck and breasts, and how your lips were swollen from his severe kisses. He had rocked your burnt out body to the max.

“I’ll tell you what. How about we go get cleaned up, and then we can get into bed. Then you can tell me about your week if so wish.” He suggested, cautiously guiding you off of the bed.

“I think I just want to get a bath and get some sleep.” You said, barely able to stand on your wobbly legs.

“Okay, darling. Whatever you want.” He smiled softly, hoping it’d offer you some kind of solace. 

Severus ran you a hot bath, filling it with all of your favorite scents and smells. Your stance was still despite your shaking legs, and you seemed to be staring off into an endless trance. You slipped into the tub when it was ready, sinking down just below your nose under the bubbles. Normally, Severus would be sitting across from you or you’d be snuggled up on his lap, but he wanted you to have some space for a bit. You were honestly too tired to object. 

He simply casted a charm to freshen himself up, finding and selecting his favorite pair of sweatpants and soft shirt for you to change into. Your eyes were closed, and you had just begun to drift off to sleep when he re-entered the bathroom, changed into some casual day time wear, despite how late it was.

“Here are some clean clothes for you, pretty girl.” He remarked, setting the folded sweats and shirt on the end of the tub for you to get when you got out.

You only gave a light nod as a response, your eyes following him as he stood awkwardly. He was unsure of what to do for you now. He thought that you might want the bedroom to yourself for the night, which was fine because he wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing he had pushed you so hard anyway. He placed himself on the floor by the tub, sitting with his legs criss crossed over one another. It was quiet in the room, the only sounds were the occasional gentle splash when you moved your leg or arm. His eyes were still full of worry, and he was kicking himself big time now.

“I’m so sorry...” He breathed out, running his fingertips dragging leisurely your damp arm that you had resting on the ledge of the bathtub; “I never meant to hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me, Sev. I promise.” You responded, wishing he wouldn’t take this so hard.

When it came to you, Severus took everything to heart. There weren’t many things in the world that made his heart beat with a purpose. You were the single person that allowed him to want to get up in the mornings. The thought of hurting you was enough to break him down. If he could have it his way, you would be indescribably happy with every passing moment of every day. He never wanted you to feel anything other than joy. 

But he knew that life would never allow it.

Your eyebrows dipped when you noticed his attire, wondering why he wasn’t in his own sleepwear. It was much too late for him to go anywhere.

“Where are you going?” You questioned, your voice thick with weary.

“I’m going to go back to the school. I have some grading to do.” He half-lied.

It was true that he did indeed have a stack of papers to be assessed, but that wasn’t the real reason why he felt like he wanted to leave. Severus Snape grading on a Friday night when he had the opportunity to be cuddled up with his lover? He’d choose you every time.

Now you felt bad for causing him to scurry off. You wanted him there with you regardless of what had happened.

“Severus,” You called out tenderly, reaching for his face; “I don’t want you to leave.” 

A genuine look of doubt flashed over his features as his head lulled into your hand.

“I think it would be best if you got some good sleep tonight. I’ll just be in my office so if-”

“Stay with me. Please?” You requested, the thought of sleeping without him was disheartening.

A sigh of awe expelled from his chest. He couldn’t say no to your puppy eyes and slightly pouting lower lip.

“Okay, okay.” He agreed.

“I think that some boyfriend snuggles will make me feel a whole lot better.” You spoke rather cheekily.

He hummed affirmatively. The sound of nestling up with you was impossible to turn down. He took your hand from his face and kissed your palm gingerly, holding the warm skin to his lips for a brief moment. He eventually stood from the floor, but stopped when you held your arms up.

“Help me up?” You asked with the first genuine smile of the evening.

He chuckled, obliging and lifting you effortlessly from the tub. The warm towel was heavenly as you dried off, changing into the clothes that Severus had left for you. Severus went and changed as well, laughing to himself when he exited the closet to see you already curled up. 

The sheets draped over him easily when he laid next to you, waiting for you to nuzzle up to him. He held you close and flush to him, thanking his lucky stars that you were okay.

“My sweet girl...” He hushed out, noting that you were just seconds away from falling asleep; “I love you.” 

You mumbled out a sleepy “I love you” in return before drifting into a deep slumber to snooze off the night’s drama. Severus, as expected, didn’t sleep much that night to ensure that you were sleeping soundly and comfortably. He still felt dreadful, even after you had told him over and over that he didn’t hurt you. The weekend to follow was filled with Severus doting and cherishing over you every chance that he had, trying to make up for what had happened. You were the light of his life after all.

And he prayed that he’d never see that flame go out.

[cocobeanncteez]

ATEEZ Jongho Imagine: When he's still in contact with his ex-mistress. (Mafia au)

Anonymous said: hii idk if u take reqs but i really enjoy ur storyies n wanted to req smth angsty......mafia jongho who still is in touch w his exmistress n his wife does not like it.... ending can be anyth thx

A/N: Thank you for requesting! My requests are actually closed right now, but I loved this idea so I decided to write it! I hope you like it!

Genre: Angst, mafia au.

Pairing: Mafia!Jongho / Husband!Jongho x reader (fem)

Warnings: profanities, mentions of abuse, alcohol, cheating, and guns.

Tears streamed down your face while your back was pressed against the wall, watching your husband, Jongho, get changed to go who knows where.

The two of you had gotten into the worst argument you've ever had. Jongho's toxic ex-mistress was trying to fuck up your relationship yet again, but your husband just couldn't see that. She was his mistress for five years and older than him by seven years; she was the reason why Jongho got into the mafia world. He did love her a lot, but she used him only for her pleasure and abused him on countless occasions. One day, she decided to leave him and he was completely shattered. You entered his life a few months later, and it took you nearly a year to pick up every piece and put him back together. When she suddenly came back into his life, Jongho didn't tell you about it. They chose to speak once in a while... until she found out about you and decided to cause a lot of drama. You were beyond uncomfortable with that fact that your husband kept in touch with her; even after you expressed how you felt about it, your words went into his ears and left just as fast. You wondered how much longer you could tolerate this, cause honestly, you were so close to your limit.

The sound of a gun cocking brought you out of your thoughts. You glanced at Jongho who was thoroughly checking his handgun before he placed it inside his leather jacket.

"Where are you going?" you asked in concern, hoping it wasn't a mission, although he could handle it if it was one. The worst part about being in the mafia was never knowing whether your loved ones would come back alive once they walk out the door.

"That's none of your business," he replied, making your heart ache.

"I'm your wife, Jongho, it is my business," you said in a soft tone. "Are you going on a mission or—" He left before you could finish talking, slamming the door harshly behind him.

You slid down against the wall, putting your head in your hands while you started crying again. Why couldn't he see how much he was hurting you?

-

"Y/N! Y/N, wake up!" you felt someone shaking your body. You accidentally fell asleep on the floor while crying last night.

"How the fuck is she sleeping in that position? Her neck is gonna hurt badly." 

You slowly opened your eyes, immediately meeting San's dark brown ones. Mingi was next to him, looking at you like as if you were an alien.

"No offense, but you look like shit," Mingi commented, making you snort.

You got up from the floor, groaning in pain due to the pain you felt all over your body, especially in your neck.

"Told you she's gonna be in pain," San murmured to Mingi.

The two of them left you to shower while they made some breakfast. You checked your reflection in the mirror, not surprised to see the puffy bags under your swollen eyes.

You were sure Jongho didn't come back last night, and you really wanted to know where he was.

After taking a shower and having breakfast with San and Mingi, you decided to ask them about Jongho's whereabouts.

"Guys, do you know where Jongho is?"

"Nope," Mingi said. On the other hand, San noticeably tensed up.

"You were with him, weren't you?" you questioned San.

"Not really, but we were at the same club," he said, avoiding eye contact. San has been your bestfriend ever since you were kids, so you could easily tell that there was something else he wasn't telling you about.

"Sannie, I know you're hiding something from me," you crossed your arms over your chest. "You're my bestfriend, not Jongho's, so you better tell me now."

He took a deep breath. "You're not going to be happy about it."

Your eyes widened, immediately realizing what he meant. "He was with that stupid bitch?!"

-

You lit a scented candle and stripped your clothes off before sitting in the whirlpool tub in your bathroom. You felt like shit the entire day and you really just needed to relax.

After a few minutes, you heard your bathroom door open and Jongho walked in, eyes immediately settling on you. You were surprised he came home so fast after being with his ex-mistress.

"I'm sorry," your husband said, sitting at the edge of the tub. You ignored him, closing your eyes, trying to focus on the warm water instead. "So you're just going to ignore me now?" You didn't say anything while you got out of the tub, wrapping your wet body with a towel.

"Y/N, talk to me," Jongho mumbled, following you to the closet. You wore your panties and a white tank top before moisturizing your legs. "Fuck, Y/N. Talk to me!" Jongho's voice raised a little. "Say something for fucks sake!"

You turned to look at him. "Why don't you go talk to your ex-mistress instead?"

"She means nothing to me!"

You took a deep breath. "Did you sleep with her?" you questioned your husband, staring right into his eyes.

Jongho's jaw dropped a little in shock. "I would never ever be unfaithful to you. How could you even think that I—"

"You were drunk and you spent the night at your ex-mistress' place, Jongho!" you yelled, cutting him off. "You spent the night at that fucking bitch's place after all the shit she did to you! What do you expect me to think?!"

"I wouldn't have been there if I wasn't drunk," he stated, taking your hands in his. "But believe me, nothing happened between us last night. I passed out on her couch."

You chucked bitterly. "You expect me to believe that? You really think I'd believe that after what happened a few months ago?" you asked, referring to the time when he kissed her while being extremely drunk.

"I told you I would never look at another woman as long as I wear this," he held his hand up, pointing to his wedding ring.

"Wow, that makes this situation a whole lot better!" you said sarcastically. Jongho's lips pulled into a thin line. He really didn't know what to do; all he knew was he fucked up big time.

Jongho sighed deeply. "Okay, I know I fucked up and I'm sorry," he said after a few seconds of silence.

You scoffed, tears brimming your eyes. "I've been telling you for months now that I-I," you choked out a sob while the tears began to roll down your face. "That I'm uncomfortable with you having any sort of contact with her, but you don't give a fuck. I wouldn't have any issues with you talking to her if she wasn't constantly trying to screw things up between us. Why can't you see that she's messing things up between us? Why do you always fucking defend her when everyone else can see what she's doing?"

Jongho kept quiet, listening to every word you said, thinking about all the fights you two had because of her. "I can't tolerate this anymore. I'm literally done, Jongho," you continued. "I really can't handle it anymore. I tried my best to tolerate everything, but I'm fucking exhausted now. What's the point of being married to someone who clearly prefers the company of his ex-mistress?" Jongho's eyes widened at your words, wondering if what he was thinking was right or wrong.

His thoughts were confirmed once you were about to take your wedding ring off; he immediately put his hand over yours, stopping you from doing so.

"Don't," he whispered, pain and fear clear in his beautiful eyes. "Please don't. I love you, Y/N." He leaned his forehead against yours. "I swear she means nothing to me. I'll stop talking to her. I'm so sorry for hurting you. Please don't leave me." You felt a wet drop fall onto your cheek, making you look up at your husband. This was the first time you saw Jongho crying and the sight of it broke your heart. You cupped his cheeks, wiping his tears away.

"Don't leave," he murmured, more tears rolling down his perfect face.

"I won't," you sighed. You could never leave him; you loved him way too much. "But you have to promise me that you'll cut her out of your life completely, Jongho. It's damaging our relationship."

"I promise I will," he vowed, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist, scared that you might disappear. You slightly smiled, giving him a soft kiss that instantly made him feel relaxed. You could only hope he would listen to you this time.

[sofiaaaaaaaa03]

Goodbye

Pairing: Dan!Din Djarin x Teen GN reader

Request:

 hello ily u and ur writings are so great

uhhh may i request dad!din with a teenage reader (like, 15 idk) after grogu leaves with luke? like maybe comforting each other, and the reader asking what happens next, etc etc

just some good ol' angst fluff :] 💞

Scenario: After Grogu leaves with Luke the Reader and Din comfort one another after having to say goodbye.

Rating: PG

Warnings: none 

Word Count: 1,980

A/N: I love you!! Thank you so much for reading and I’m sooo happy you like my writings. And yes! I LOVED that Idea. I hope you don’t mind if I sort of went with my own thing for how the reader and Din argued a bit, it sort of just made sense in the situation??? Anyways, I hope you like what I came up with :))) I haven’t written anything in awhile so I’m a tad rusty. 

  Saying goodbye to each other was always something you’d always known would happen.  You simply chose to not think about it and greedily hoped that Din would not be able to find another Jedi who would take Grogu under their wing. In your world, Clan Mudhorn would never break apart and you’d three live together for a very long time. However, life in its mysterious ways is ever changing and never promises one’s future. It certainly never promised yours. 

You thought of this as you watched the Jedi in front of you. It was not just any Jedi, but a Jedi who was offering to take care of  your little brother. You felt your face blanch at the thought of Grogu leaving you and Din. The thought of you leaving this ship with only Din and the memories you’d made with Grogu terrified you. It couldn’t be real. It can’t be real. You shut your eyes tight, turning your head toward the ground before anyone could see your expression. 

“Y/N.” 

Din’s hand rested on your shoulder, when you’d looked up you were surprised to meet flesh instead of metal. He took off his helmet. For a moment there was nothing that mattered but the expression your guardian made. It was… sad. Tears pricked his eyes, something you’d never expected to see from him. Din gave you the tiniest of smiles and told you it was time to say goodbye.

Goodbye?

Din held Grogu out for you to take. Slowly you accepted him close and relished one last time on what it was like to hug him tight.

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuu, ner vod.” You whispered. During the time the two of you spent with Din he’d taken it upon himself to teach you Mando’a. It’d become a habit to show affection in his native tongue. Grogu cooed, leaning away to take in your face. You gave him a tight lipped smile, taking in his own. He’d grown so much. It was hard to believe that he was once a small little thing. “ I’ll always be your sibling. Don’t forget me.”

You sat Grogu back down on the floor and began to rummage through your bag before pulling out a small, plush frog, making Grogu’s ears perk up.

“Can Grogu take this with him?”

 Luke nodded, but Grogu made it clear that he wanted you to keep the plush when he wouldn’t reach out for it like he always did. Instead, he stared at you with his big eyes before gently pushing the frog back to you. You bit back a frown. You wanted to ask him, beg him to take the frog you’d put so much love into just for him. Instead you stood up straight and held the plush close to your chest, glancing again at Din who was holding a stoic expression. You forced a smile onto your face.

The goodbye was harder than you’d imagined. So was the deafening silence when the Jedi, his droid, and Grogu disappeared into the elevator. 

The moment the elevator door shut you snapped your head towards Din, but he turned his back to you and walked away. He wandered to the far end of the room and stayed there, quiet as he kept to himself. His hands fiddled with the darksaber that weighed more than you ever imagined it would before this mission began.

It was easy to forget that there were others in the room, though you were quickly reminded of their presence when they surrounded you to provide comforting words, some giving warm embraces and telling you about their own separations from loved ones. They reassured you that you would be fine in the end. You didn’t believe them. Fennec was talking to you, but your focus was on the far side of the room where Din was currently talking to Bo-Katan and Cara. You wondered what they talked about. You wondered what was going to happen now. Now, that the clan lost one member and had no ship to call home. 

Din would barely look at you when Bo-Katan and the other women left the cockpit, looking for supplies and scrounging up any valuable information left. That was assuming that there was no emergency delete button someone pushed in a panic amid the raid. You didn’t bother thinking about it long, as you stared at the back of Din’s head. He’d kept his helmet off, making it the longest that you’ve seen him without it. You stared at the helmet from where it sat on top of the mainframe. 

“Are you going to rule Mandalore now?” Your voice cut through the barrier between the two of you, making Din shuffle in his steps.

His back remained towards you and his tone was cold. “I don’t want to talk right now.”

You frowned, taken aback by this sudden attitude he’d taken on. “What do you mean by ‘I don’t want to talk right now’?”

“Exactly that.” 

“But I want to.” You crossed your arms. 

“It can wait.” 

His response came off indifferent as though he wanted to move on. For a moment you felt like you’d shut down, sure there were times where Din would behave like this coming home after a long day, too exhausted to deal with two children. But he’d never done this before. No. This was new. You didn’t like new. Not now, not when things were so uncertain for you.

“You can’t just shut me out so quickly!” You walked up so that you spoke to his back. “You’re not the only one who just went through that. I never wanted to say goodbye to Grogu. I didn’t think it’d be this soon, either. I didn’t think that. And now I don’t know what you’re going to do after this, where you’re going to go, if you’re going to let me go with you, if-”

“If I let you go with me?” Din turned to face you, eyebrows furrowed. “Y/N, of course you’re coming with me. You’re my foundling.”

“So was Grogu!” You exclaimed, suddenly realizing that tears were streaming down your face. The stress and grief were suddenly catching up to you and it showed, causing Din to raise his hands up a little. He slowly lowered them, seemingly in thought. He sighed, and gently pulled you to sit down with him on some chairs by the mainframe. You felt ashamed of yourself for crying in front of him, but didn’t say anything. Instead you were wiping your tears with your shirt as you waited for him to finally speak.

“You know Grogu is too strong with his magic to be left without training.” Din scratched his ear, eyes downward so that you couldn’t see the tears pricking his eyes again. “You… you’re only a kid. You remember that, right? You need me to protect you before you’re strong enough to leave the clan.”

You stared at him with big eyes as though you were pretending to process what he was saying. But you understood what he meant. He had the best intentions for Grogu and he has the same intentions for you. You were lucky to have someone like Din. The cloth of your shirt suddenly caught your interest as you stared down at it, playing it in between your fingers.

You sniffed, rubbing your arm across your nose. “I’m sorry for yelling at you…”

“It’s okay, Y/N.” Din wrapped an arm across your shoulder and pulled you close. As you settled into him you rested your head against his shoulder, waiting for him to say something though he never did. Maybe he was thinking about Grogu. It wouldn’t be a surprise. Anyone could see how much he’d grown attached to the little thing, despite his initial response to having to care for him. 

“You’re a great dad…” You whispered, playing with the frog in your hands. Din smiled warmly, something you missed as you continued to look down.

“Do you remember how happy Grogu was when you gave him that frog?” Din’s voice made the armor he’d dawned vibrate slightly. It ticked your cheek. You liked how it felt.

“Mhm.” You nodded as you made the frog dance in your hands. It’s chipped, mismatched buttons stared back at the two of you. 

“When I was young I used to lose my toys all the time.” 

You looked up at him, “But that was before the Mandalorians took you in, right? Weren’t they, I dunno, strict about toys?”

“No.” Din looked off, watching the stars that decorated the space they shared. “If they found a kid that still had their toy with them  they didn’t take it away. In my clan, every child had a toy of their own, to help make their transition easier, though I kept losing mine.” 

The two of you shared a small laugh. Din shook his head and looked at you fondly. “Grogo went everywhere with that frog. It meant so much to him. Guess it was because of you.”

You didn’t say anything. A warmth began to spread through your sternum at Din’s remarks. You hugged the frog close to your chest. It still smelled like Grogu. The same, earth-like geranium that followed him around. He knew that you needed the plush more than he did now that you had to say goodbye, and you were thankful for that.

 “Are you going to miss him?” 

“Of course I am.” Din nodded solemnly before he turned towards you and ruffled your hair. “But we’ll see him again.”

A moment of silence falls upon you two, one of the mainframes makes a sound and the security shows the women entering a room on the other side of the ship. They were covering good ground and carried several bags of what was assumed to be supplies for their next mission. Would Din be a part of that mission? 

“So, what happens now?” You inquired, glancing up at him. “Are you going to rule Mandalore?”

Din looked up and inhaled deeply as though he was pondering the question. He must have made some sort of plan prior. But his possession of the dark saber meant that plans had now changed. “I never expected to become a… king. Though, there’s not much to be king of.”

Behind closed doors between Din and the adults you’d hear bits and pieces about what the Empire had done to the planet. Though you were heavily uninformed, you had a good grasp that the planet was practically not worth ruling. 

“Are you going to go with Bo-Katan? She wants to take back Mandalore. With you as king it’d be fitting.”

You didn’t miss how Din grimaced slightly at her name. “What?”

Din pushed himself up and motioned for you to follow as he grabbed his helmet and began walking out. He draped an arm across your shoulder when you caught up to his pace. “Bo-Katan doesn’t seem to be all too happy with me having the darksaber. I should keep some distance and wait for her to cool off.”

 You whispered a small ‘oh’ and looked ahead. Guess he wasn’t going to go with her then. “So we have no plans then, great.”

Din glanced at you, “ What do you think we should do?”

Your mind flashed back several days ago to when you’d barely escaped being destroyed along with the razor crest. “I miss the ship.”

“You and me both.” 

“Do you think we can find a new one?”

“You can’t just find a ship, kid. It’s gonna need some credits.”

“Yeah but technically you’re a king now! Use that royalty of yours and get us one.”

“That’s not how it works kid.”

“You don’t know yet! You’ve been king for what, five minutes?”

“Maybe I will leave you here.” 

“No you won’t. You love me too much to do that.”

[psychdelia]

here are some steve hcs bc i feel like i don’t give our big sweet loving affectionate himbo enough attention on here

- idk what this kink would be called but steve 100% gets off on pleasuring others. that man is a walking service top with a praise/body worship kink but like,,, for his partners?? steve is just good at sex and making people feel good makes him feel good.

- there’s a tik tok about this that i’ll link under the replies but he definitely shovels food into his mouth in front of people he’s comfortable with. at first he’s all polite at the table, clean and mannerly like he was taught. cut to a month later and he’s sitting there with food all over his mouth and chin, cheeks full like a chipmunk. billy thinks it’s gross but it’s so endearing.

- speaking of food, food is the way to his heart. i hc steve as a taurus (me, once again, projecting onto these boys) and we Love food ok it just makes sense for him to be ready to propose to and marry billy whenever he buys steve like a bag of chips or something.

- steve cooks and billy bakes. he always drags billy into the kitchen or traps him in when he comes for a snack to shove a spoon of sauce into his mouth to make him try it. he loves watching billy eat his cooking, can sit there for hours with love in his eyes as billy moans around a mouthful of lasagna (nonna’s recipe only of course).

- i don’t wanna say he gets chubby exactly but he does grow a bit after high school. his tummy gets a little soft at scoops bc unlimited ice cream. post s3 he muscles up, gains some healthy weight. he looks a lot healthier, esp compared to him in high school, and he gets stronger.

- billy is the one who prefers babies/toddlers/young kids while steve prefers older kids/pre teens/early teens. babies overwhelm him and when they cry in his arms he just “nope. take ur kid” and hands it back off to its parent.

- i know steve not being close to his parents is a popular hc but i feel like him and his mom have a good relationship. his dad can be a hard ass with high expectations but she’s always been the more fun, easygoing parent. she’s a lot like her mom, his nonna, and they get along so well. he’s a mamas boy i don’t make the rules.

- before him and billy have sex he goes to the library and hides in the corner reading anatomy and sex education books about the wonders of the prostate and different kinks. basically studies on how to make sure everything goes well and safe and is pleasurable for both him and billy.

- he’s not a crier but his thoughts and emotions are super easy to read through his expressions. you know how babies have certain cries that show what they want in the moment?? (hungry cry, fake attention cry, etc.) thats steve’s facial expressions. he has a specific face for each emotion or thought (i hope that makes sense????) oh he also definitely pouts when he doesn’t get his way or when billy ignores him.

- he loves dogs and can play with them all day long until they’re both panting and exhausted. he doesn’t think he’s a cat person until he meets billy (who is also a cat person) and billy is just a big cat in human form so this realization just makes steve love all animals. him and billy adopt a cat post s3 and she hates steve at first but he eventually wins her over through lots of treats and gentle pets - similar to how he got billy to trust him after starcourt (strawberry milkshakes and hugs)

- his dick is very big and very pretty and he knows how to use it but we all collectively agree on this

[1oserjk]

— 20 something

maybe it’s how much you try and try so hard with every passing thing you do to still end up getting absolutely nothing in return. maybe you’re just jealous.

word count: 1.1k

+ jock!jk n his athlete complex again n all he does is use his sport to shield n protect him w literally anything he does in school. also i know football is an american thing but it’s the only sport that can portray how much of a dick he is in this. this is also just oc pulling a megan n going: it’s a discrimination to nerds,, everywhere! she’s mean about it too, rightfully so.

u can associate this jk with the to be urs universe but they r kind of a confusing couple i literally actively avoid bc i have a hard time explaining their off/on situation so idk,, see it as it is i guess

x masterlist

His tongue prods the inside of his cheek with a layer of confusion settled throughout his whole expression. He actually seems hurt. “Really? I tell you some good news about me and this is what I get?”

You’re too focused on the lesson plan splayed out on your laptop screen, and honestly could care less of anything that concerned Jungkook and his blinding news right now. If you could even call it that. “Congratulations,” you dryly reply with. “Glad you had something to brag about.”

“I’m not fucking—“ His voice began to increase in volume with each second that passes and it takes him a second too late to realize he wasn’t in a place to be yelling. Not when the thin walls of your room separated you both from your uptight bitch of a roommate, especially on a grueling Friday night like this one. “—bragging,” he eventually hissed out, taking a seat right at the edge of your tiny bed.

“You’re boasting, Jungkook,” you state so obviously. Like a brat. “Anybody could have seen it the moment you waltzed in and suddenly announced you were transferring to somewhere better.”

“No,” he grits out, “I came here to let out the great fucking news I was looking forward in telling to my best friend. Maybe even say sorry for not carrying out the promise we had.”

You sigh. “That’s great, Jungkook. I’m glad.” The sincerity is barely there and your eyes are only stuck on that one problem you’ve been putting off the whole night. “But I’m not really surprised. Our plan.. it was really nothing but a thing to keep us going, you know? I honestly didn’t really think it would have happened anyway.”

“With what?” He spits in disbelief. “Moving in together? I told you we would’ve made it happen if you weren't so reluctant in—“

“With everything, Jungkook!” You irritatedly interrupt. “Everything was ideal but the thought of you actually staying for it was absolutely not happening. You’re an athlete—“ His eyes roll back dramatically, having to hear you repeat that label over him for the nth time already, “—and other universities are hungry for people like you.”

“Is that all you really think of me?” He genuinely asks, brows evidently furrowed. You probably even lied about wanting to wait out being roommates, saying you weren’t ready yet and to delay it another year. In actuality, you were just waiting for Jungkook to announce his leave. “Just a jock to you? Not even a friend?”

You don’t answer.

He sighs, “This opportunity.. This school.. I’ve worked hard for this, _____.”

You utter out a laugh and cross your arms. “Good fucking grief, Jeon.. I’m so glad somebody had the chance of seeing you on the field play the way that you did and offer you to attend somewhere far better than here just for it.”

He shrugs passively. “If you’re jealous, just say that.” And as soon as those exact words escape his mouth, your palms curl inwards and dig deep into the skin.

“You know what? Yeah, I am,” You answer, “I’m jealous that I have to compete with someone who barely tries in his grades, only to land better opportunities than me just because he can run and throw a fucking ball around.”

“It’s more than that!”

“Yes,” you drawl, “Because running to get tackled and getting concussions every week is far more complex than anyone can explain.”

All your life, it’s been failure after failure, having to prove yourself every time you were fit for whatever job or project you set yourself out to do on your own. Jungkook though? He was always so goddamn perfect. Walking in late to each of his lectures, acing the exams you stress over, and being an all-around boy for everybody to gawk at. Did he deserve it? You’re not sure. But you despised the amount of work you’ve put in for the one unforgiving person to completely erase your name and climb his own way up to the top — with ease and nothing else.

Actually, it was something you always despised. Like you were watching him get on every rollercoaster at an amusement park because he had that special pass on his neck to do so while you had to wait out through each one you wanted to ride on.

He has always been a constant mess, but fortunately for him, ever since he was capable of picking up a ball and running with it, suddenly all of his problems were cradled and taken care off with the slinky of his sport being the main support in it. His own coaches have to coax him through horrible grades and missing assignments just so that the kid wouldn’t be booted off the team.

Seeing it now, you entirely stripped all of the energy from him, any response to argue with you, any way to get rid of whatever image you plastered over him - that even convinces himself to ask if he was really someone who acted the exact way you described - it’s gone. Both hands run through his hair in absolute stress, face contorting in exhaustion.

“Can I ask you something?” Sitting up fully now, you face him with a demeaning look, that fucking face that puts him at a level below you without even realizing it. Like he means nothing to you. “What are you going to do when you graduate after? When you don’t have that chance you think you have in getting scouted for a professional league? When you’ve reached your absolute peak and have nothing left to offer? What’s going to happen next?” You taunt him. “Stick to Plan B, come back, marry, and have your kids here? Maybe apply for that coach position at our old high school and take over the former spot of being a failure?”

“You’re a bitch,” he manages to mutter, glaring at the ground before standing up to his full height and heading for the door. He should have never come and made you the first person he would tell. His friends would have threw him a party, pat him on the back and tell him he’s the fucking best. You’re too truthful for that. “And a fucking loser too,” he comments as the hinges creak.

“Yeah,” you wave, mean smile never loosening, “Have a fun celebration, Jeon. You deserve it.”

The door slams shut. 

[i-imade-a-thing]

The Dinner & Battle of the Bands Breakdown!

Ok these episodes......are SO WHOLESOME! AHHHH SEEING THE GIRLS INTERACT WITH EACH OTHER! THOSE 2 SONGS ARE ALSO REALLY CATCHY I ALREADY LISTEN TO IT 8 TIMES NOW! These episodes are going to be the last breather before next week...well gotta go up the emotional roller coaster before crashing down.

This will be details and other stuff I notice during my rewatch as always, Spoiler below.

The Dinner

Marcy outfit is cute

Anne fold napkin like in "Lily Pad Thai"

Frobo's ability updated: Grill

Felicia let people stay in her house

Idk what Sasha's flower is but it probably symbolized smth

Sasha has 1 dagger on her shoulder, 2 in her hair(she kept one which was use later in the ep), and atleast 25 in her boot

A painting in the background is 1 frog reading story to 3 tadpoles

Anne wearing another traditional Thai outfit!

Those purple flower are so familar...i cant remember the name but there's a symbolism behind it

Sprig wore a different suit

Return of Grime's smile

Frobo holding bottle in the background

Polly is sitting in her baby chair

Sprig being passive-aggressive

"How many toads it take to screw mushroom light? NONE! They prefer utter darkness and the smell of blood!" JFC HP

Can we appreciate the facial expression in this show?

"Anne took the blame and say it was her idea," this show how Anne is willing to sacrifice to help her friends

aSasha is annoyed that she doesn't get the inside joke between Anne and Marcy

"Sergeant Campbell BilGEwater and the Horsefly Rebellion of 48'" guess there's a lot of amphibia history we don't know...

"For a frog ur pretty smart," Grime really look down at frog huh?

Sasha and Sprig interaction is golden.

"Well maybe I dont wanna change? Do you ever think about that? Or were you two busy riding your high horse?" notice how she say you two and not ur family, it may referred to how she Anne and Marcy has change

"We're supposed to be friend for life! We don't split up," Marcy is really trying her best to keep friendship together

Even Sasha know frog doesn't do dessert battle(see how she said "no!")

Anne's theme can be heard when Sasha said "I like how I am"

Marcy being sensitive about friend and family continuity from "Maddie and Marcy"

The house in the background have light, guess the family over there finally get back together(the house was abandoned in Stakeout and destroyed in Handy Anne)

"Where we gonna live?" HP with his 10/10 dialogue

AAAAHHH seeing the girl interact with each other is so wholesome. I really like how they are talking about Anne's(and marcy) changes and its affect on Sasha. ALSO HOW DOES GRIME BECAME A S TIER CHARACTER UNDER 11 MIN!? Overall this is a really fun episode(even through i said that to every episode...)!

Battle of the Bands

"It's just one time" Sasha also said this in previous episode

The wheel of fun include: "Potluck Dinner", "Massage Train", "Battle of the Bands"

The trio band name is "Sasha and the Sharps"

Sasha's guitar case have a sticker written "Fangs" and a beetle

Her guitar has a tiny grime sticker!

Sasha is sweating when playing the guitar

Marcy being clumsy

"If that's ok with you Sasha" Marcy really want her friends to be together

When Anne sings "Finally me is no big deal", she blushed meaning this sentence really mean so much to her.

Anne's pupil is bigger when she ask Sasha about "No Big Deal" lyrics

Anne's outfit is a dragonfly, Marcy is butterfly, and Sasha is moth, all of these can symbolised change(for dragonfly can represent self realization too)

"Why is it always have to be your way?" Anne can now talk about to Sasha when she doesn't agree with something

"Once again I'm forcing you to do things my way"Sasha really want to become a better person

Sasha isn't really happy when leaving Anne and Marcy

"If I'm not in control at all time, I'll go crazy! It actually kind of exhausting" Sasha doesn't like the feeling of needing to control either

Vote Toadstool pin, maybe Toadie kept this from the last election in ss1

RETURN OF DUCKWEED

"I grow singing tulips" -Chuck

Mrs. Croaker playing her...uh...instrument by...yea im gonna skip this one

Sprig and Wally playing their instruments!

A frog in the background have a sign "Play Loud"

Marcy have brown pupil

Anne and Marcy's band name is "The Sharp"(cuz u know, no sasha)

There's a tuba-like instrument in the back of Frobo

There's a paper on the curtain that wrote "You got this!"

I'll make a seperate post about the song's lyric later, probably :)

HP and Sprig ARE PROUD

The light in this scene is pink, notice how Sasha is in the dark and seeing Anne and Marcy on the stage is like a "light"

We can see some drums, mop, and ropes in the backstage

Stumpy, Chuck, Felicia, Ivy(on top of Felicia's head), and Tuti can be seen in the crowd

THIS SCENE. THIS SCENE IS SO WHOLESOME! SEEING THE GIRLS TOGETHER

Also the girls' outfit is same/similar to their respective gem

Grime stealing the show 2 episodes straight

Is that a Swan Harp!?

Grime's performance uncut edition when

From left to right: Fleafy(from maddie and marcy), Frobo, Soggy Joe, Toadie, Toadstool, Sheriff Buck(from girl time), Stumpy, Mr. Flour, Sylvia, Maddie and her sisters, Hop Pop, Polly, Sprig, Marcy, Anne, Sasha, Grime, Microangelo, bessie, Ivy, Felicia, Chuck, that ghost from Night Driver, Wally, Loggle, Mrs. Croaker, Duckweed, Tuti(from girl time), and Gunther(from croak and punishment)

THIS IS IT! THE MOST WHOLESOME PICTURE IN THE SHOW!

This is it. The most wholesome episode in the show. The girl's interaction with each other, Sasha and Anne friendship is healing, callback to many character, and one final happy photo....I am really scared for next episode. This is the final peak before everything's go downhill, get ready.

[meridiansdominoes]

Showers of Starlight

Incoming blyla incoming blyla incoming blyla

This issssss the sequel to ‘Catch the Rain’ that was posted a few weeks ago! @thatfunkyopossum HAPPY BIRTHDAY UR MY FAVORITE <3

(this is like, 6k words?? Is that okay to post in this weird tumblr format?? It’s gonna be mad long... well idk,,, but here it is anyway on ao3 too in case you don’t want to destroy ur dash with a long post heh

ao3:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/24758554

Aayla finds her Commander standing out on the little balcony, dressed in civilian clothes and staring out into the city. Night turns Coruscant into an endless sea of luminescence. Air lanes become lines of shooting stars pressing onward in the darkness. Skyscrapers around them glow with the light of thousands of residents inside, creating trails of brilliance that ascend up towards the black sky. 

By the time Aayla arrives at the complex that serves as the temporary housing for her officers while they’re on leave, the sun has disappeared from the sky, and she’s mentally exhausted. A full report to the Jedi Council takes effort and energy that she has to fight to produce, but she is required to give her debriefing before she can get some rest herself. She’s relieved that it’s over now, but there are still a few things to take care of. Her men need to be fully settled, otherwise Aayla won’t be able to sleep well tonight. She knows that Bly will take care of things, but she needs to verify their wellbeing for herself for her own peace of mind. Here on Coruscant they’re finally safe, and she has to remind herself of that somehow.   

Though visiting Bly to check on the men isn’t necessarily a bad thing. If anything the thought makes some of her exhaustion leave her as she steps into the lift that will take her up to her Commander’s quarters. The journey upwards is smooth and quick. When the doors open on the correct floor, Aayla steps out and immediately finds one of her officers in the hallway, clad only in his blacks.  

“General!” Captain Brine says in surprise, blue eyes widening. He snaps off a quick salute automatically. The effect is dampened slightly by the pillow he has tucked under his other arm. “What are you—oh. Looking for the Commander?”

Aayla nods. “Are you well, Captain?”

Brine shrugs.

“Well enough, sir. It’s a bit odd to not be on the ship, but the rooms are nice. Though the pillows leave a lot to be desired. I had to go find myself a new one.”

Aayla huffs out a tiny laugh. 

“I’ll take your word for it, Brine. Could you direct me to Bly’s room?”

“The last one on the left, sir,” Brine answers without hesitation. He meets her gaze carefully, something unreadable flashing across his face. “He’ll try to keep working instead of getting some rest like he should. Maybe you can help him where I can’t.”

Aayla blinks at her Captain, but before she can fully make sense of the words Brine is already retreating towards his own room. He closes his door behind him, leaving Aayla alone in the hallway. She sighs and makes her way to the end of the hall until she stands in front of the very last door on the left. 

It isn’t locked. The door slides open when she knocks lightly on the durasteel. She steps inside. The rooms that Brine had described as ‘nice’ are small and spartan in design. Nice is not the word Aayla would have used, but they’re a step up from the barracks to her men. There are three tiny spaces all hooked together—a small reception area, a tiny unused kitchen, and an even tinier bedroom. Aayla can see through the entire apartment.

Bly is nowhere in sight, although his armor is neatly stacked on the table in the little kitchen. Aayla hesitates for a moment, confused, until she notices the transperisteel door flung open against the far wall. Cream colored floor-length curtains hide the actual doorway from view. She makes her way through the apartment and pushes the curtains aside. 

Aayla finds her Commander standing out on the little balcony, dressed in civilian clothes and staring out into the city. Night turns Coruscant into an endless sea of luminescence. Air lanes become lines of shooting stars pressing onward in the darkness. Skyscrapers around them glow with the light of thousands of residents inside, creating trails of brilliance that ascend up towards the black sky. 

Coruscant is far too polluted for its inhabitants to see the stars that stretch above them through the smog. For some residents, the brilliant night is the closest they will ever get to seeing space around them. It is beautiful, in its own way. From the balcony of Bly’s window it seems as if he is poised on the edge of a glittering nebula, watching the colors swirl in hypnotic patterns and glitter quietly in the dark. 

Bly is framed by the ambient light of the city. Aayla allows herself to just watch him for a nanosecond. She can’t see his face, but the light plays off of his tan skin in such a flattering way that she can’t avert her gaze. There’s a datapad in one of his hands. She raps lightly on the wall to alert him to her presence. He turns a little too fast, free hand jerking down to his side for a weapon that isn’t there right now. Once he’s seen her, he stiffens a little bit into a loose attention. One eyebrow raises slowly.

“General?”

Aayla doesn’t respond immediately, mostly because her brain stalls as she finally takes full stock of what he’s wearing. 

He’s dressed in a loose white shirt with a low neckline that reveals his collarbone and the hint of a gold tattoo over his chest that disappears under the fabric. Her eyes pause on the smooth skin of his neck before she forces herself to drop her gaze—but that just makes things worse, because without the usual armor smoothing out the lines of his body she can see every muscle in his arms. His biceps are... impressive. She spends a moment just... drinking it in, because who knows if she’ll ever get to see this ever again. The tight black pants completing his outfit certainly don’t help her concentration.

Bly coughs suddenly. She glances back up to look him in the eyes. Now that she’s already thinking about such details, it’s hard to stop. The splashes of gold against the slant of his cheekbones is distinctly alluring. Aayla struggles to pull her thoughts out of the downward spiral and grimaces inwardly. She’s left him standing there for a heartbeat longer than necessary. She quirks one lek in a hasty greeting.

“At ease, Commander. I just wanted to ask you if the last of the reports have come in yet.” Aayla steps out onto the balcony to join him. She does, in fact, have the self-control necessary to keep her gaze from roving across his exposed skin this time, as tempting as it is. 

Bly’s body language loosens. He leans against the railing again and taps at his datapad, scrolling through a list of reports. She can see tiny pinpricks of light reflected from the city skyline in his eyes. Aayla settles herself against the railing next to him as well, content to wait as he runs through his mental checklists. 

She reaches out with the Force and grounds herself against his presence. It’s always bright and soothing and mellow to her in a way that she’s never felt before, not even among Jedi. She’s drawn to it. Today his mind is smooth, pulsing gently with peace and relief to finally be on leave. It’s rare that she gets to feel him in that state of mind. Bly is always concerned about something—about the men, about a campaign, about hyperspace routes, about shipping documents… about her. 

Perhaps he thinks he is subtle, but Aayla sees far more than he realizes. 

She notices when his gaze lingers on her, when he hesitates with his mouth hanging open as if he wants to speak before closing it and marching stiffly away. She notices when he bristles with anger and places himself between her and the foolish males that do not see the lightsaber in favor of inspecting her curves. She notices the fleeting smiles that cross his face when he thinks that she isn’t looking. 

She wonders if he’s ever noticed the similar expressions that cross her own face.

There has been an odd tension in the Force lately. It’s a steady buzz, just present enough to nag at her as if ordering her to pay attention to something. It doubles whenever she speaks with her commander. Aayla thinks that she understands why now. Perhaps. Tonight is as good a night as any to either confirm or dispute her theory… if she is brave enough. If she is wise about how she approaches the subject.

It’s a risk, but it’s one that she’s willing to take. Determination floods her veins. 

Bly sighs and looks up from the datapad with a nod of approval.

“I’ve got every report, sir. We’re good to go. I’ve even got the ship’s maintenance schedule here.” He grins wryly. “If only it were like this every time. The crew have sent all the records to me quicker than usual so that they can be off duty faster.”

Aayla chuckles.

“It would spare you a large amount of stress, at the very least,” she comments in amusement. Bly rolls his eyes.

“Force forbid,” he mutters. There’s something so easy about standing next to him, about the civilian clothing, about the casual conversation. Aayla feels a strange pang of jealousy. How easy would all of this be if they weren’t soldiers, if she were not a Jedi? She’s never doubted her purpose before, but Bly is the catalyst for many such thoughts.

Bly lifts his free hand to rub at his face. She glimpses a line of gold curling up his arm, disappearing into his sleeve. She reaches out to touch it without even thinking, brushing her fingers along the line and marvelling at how his something that should feel metallic and cold under her hand is warm and soft instead. She traces the tattoo higher, stopping just before she reaches the barrier of his sleeve. Part of her wants to follow it further. The thought abruptly makes her mouth go dry. 

“It suits you,” Aayla tells him honestly. He freezes up. For an instant, she feels muscles bunching under his skin. She pulls her hand away quickly, afraid that she’s crossed a line, and reaches out with the Force to check if she’s offended him in any way. Perhaps the tattoo is in memory of a lost brother, or a hard battle that he hadn’t wanted to remember right now—

When she brushes Bly’s mind she finds it full of static. His thoughts are racing almost too fast for her to make sense of them. After a moment he seizes them and wrestles them into submission. He swallows once and nods at her politely. 

“Thank you, sir,” he says. Calm, controlled. If she hadn’t glimpsed his thoughts she wouldn’t have known any better. But she does know, and the realization makes amusement and perhaps a hint of mischief course through her. If this is how he reacts to a simple compliment, she can’t imagine how he would be if she were to—

Force. Enough of that. 

“Have the men gotten settled?” she asks quietly, retreating away from his mind for the time being. He straightens at the question, shoulders drawing back.

“Yes, sir. They’re alright.” Then he winces. “They’re… excited. We haven’t gotten a good amount of leave in a while. I was thinking of drafting an apology letter to Fox tonight, just in case.”

Aayla laughs. 

“They deserve to have their fun,” she comments, leaning against the railing and staring out at the skyline in front of them. “We’ve had a busy few months.”

Bly drags in a deep breath and exhales slowly. 

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “They were getting tired. This will be good for them.”

“And for us,” Aayla adds. He hesitates, unsure of how to respond. She takes the opportunity to lean over him and pluck the datapad from his hand. A protest rises on his lips, but she shoots him a look, and he bites his tongue. “You deserve rest just as much as the rest of your men do, Commander.”

He nods in reluctant agreement, resting one elbow against the railing and slumping a little. He isn’t completely relaxed, but it’s more than he had been a few moments ago. Improvement.  

Silence settles over them. It isn’t uncomfortable—on the contrary, it’s peaceful. A light breeze stirs through the air. Aayla glances up at her Commander, squaring her shoulders a bit. There is an opportunity here, a chance to act. She takes it.

“What would you like to do after the war, Bly?”

He blinks at her, taken aback. To be fair, she’s never asked him something like this before. During the heat and smoke and fire of a campaign she’d never felt as if it were an appropriate question to solicit. She watches him consider it. He glances down, picking at the loose white shirt as if suddenly unsure of himself. 

“I’m not sure, sir,” he answers slowly. “I was created to be a soldier. I can’t really imagine myself doing anything else with my life. What… what would you like to do?”

Aayla hums. 

“I suppose I will continue to be a Jedi. Though it will undoubtedly be strange. We’ve taken the roles of Generals so easily. Many will struggle to leave it behind.”

His expression flickers as something unreadable passes across his face. 

“Will you?”

She falters.

Aayla will struggle. She already knows that, as surely as she knows that the sun will rise in the morning. Perhaps a few years ago that would have concerned her, but today she accepts it and wonders, not for the first time, if she even will want to leave it behind. Not for the power, not for the thrill of command, but for the men. For Bly.  

The Council would be appalled to hear that. Quinlan Vos would be thrilled. 

“I will not leave my men behind, even if the title of General is removed from me,” she tells Bly firmly. It’s so easy to be honest with him. It’s part of the reason why they work so well together. She sees something in Bly ease a little at her words. 

“That’s good, sir,” he says. Without warning he tenses again, taking a shallow breath. “I don’t necessarily know what I want to do after the war, but I do know that it wouldn’t be worth my time if you weren’t there as well.”

Her heart stutters in her chest. He turns his face back to the skyline, as if immediately berating himself for the comment. Aayla resists the urge to reach out with the Force and find the true meaning of those words, to understand everything left unspoken there. 

“In that case, I would welcome your company,” she responds quietly. Bly shifts his weight just a little. Some of the strain eases from his shoulders at her acceptance. His words hadn’t been an offer, not exactly, but it had been a bold statement—especially for Bly, who understands his priorities and selflessly resists the feelings that he so clearly wants to act upon. Aayla senses conflict in him, a constant battle between remaining stoic and throwing all caution to the wind. 

It would be a lie to say that she did not feel the same thing. 

There is a chain of command. There is a Jedi Code. There are rules, both dictated and not, that must be followed. In all her life she has never found herself wishing that it were not so until now.

Bly pulls away from the railing of the balcony, taking a step back. His tattoos gleam like liquid gold across his arms as he moves into a different light.  

“I… I’ll get some rest then, General. You should too,” he suggests carefully. Too carefully. She is consistently impressed by his restraint. If it weren’t for his careful self-control she would have fallen a long time ago, but he balances her out perfectly in that as well as everything else. She doesn’t want him to leave yet. 

She catches his arm as he tries to turn away with her own hand. Both of them freeze. Aayla looks down at her hand and is suddenly fascinated by the way the blue of her skin contrasts with the warm brown of his. 

“Bly. Stay with me?”

She doesn’t have much right to ask that of him. It’s his room, after all. But Aayla doesn’t imagine the little tremor that runs through his body as he pulls his arm away. She lifts her head to meet his gaze and is stunned by the storm of conflict in his eyes.

“General… I don’t think…”

“Stay,” Aayla repeats softly. She ever-so-gently brushes at the edge of his mind again to make sure she isn’t pressuring him. She won’t force him into something he genuinely doesn’t want to do. 

Bly’s mind is always so welcoming to her. She doesn’t even think that he’s aware of how readily it opens to her, of how easily it shares its secrets with her. For that reason she chooses to keep her distance for the most part, because she refuses to take advantage of him in that way. If she must reach for his thoughts, she keeps the connection as shallow as possible.

On occasions she’s seen his mind flare brilliantly when she’s nearby until he stuffs the light away under a grey shield of professionalism. She catches glimpses of it when he’s not being careful—when they’ve won a campaign and the men are celebrating in a fever, adrenaline and relief and the thrill of success spinning through the air. When she tells him that her recklessness had indeed been part of the plan and he only responds with an eye-roll and a fond chuckle. When he changes an entire battle strategy because she makes a single offhand comment about how she’s worried about destroying a beautiful forest. 

Never once has she felt his mind grow heavy and dark with the sick lust that so many other men succumb to when she approaches. When desire does escape from the deeper recesses of Bly’s mind it is only visible for an instant as a bright flash of heat before he shuts it down without mercy. His respect for her is tangible even without a glance at his thoughts. 

Right now, his mind is hesitant. She can sense that he wants to stay, but he is afraid as well. He’s worried for what he might do if he does remain, for what she might think, for what the men might say. 

If only he could see into her mind. Aayla thinks a bit wryly that he wouldn’t be as afraid if he could feel her own thoughts on the matter.

“I would like it if you stayed,” she reiterates, just so that he understands that this isn’t an order, isn’t something that he’s required to accept. “Though you are welcome to get some rest if you wish.”

It’s a dangerous game that they’re playing. The attraction, the want, is mutual, otherwise it wouldn’t be as potent as it is. Aayla is tired of ignoring the bantha in the room. War takes and razes and tears down everything in its path. For once she wants to take something for herself.

Bly clenches his jaw and nods once.

“I’ll stay,” he acquiesces quietly. In the distance, faint police sirens become audible. Aayla can’t help a tiny smirk at the way Bly’s expression turns pained. 

“There are millions of life-forms living nearby, Bly, I’m sure the men are fine. They probably don’t have anything to do with it,” she teases. He rolls his eyes. 

“If I don’t get some sort of complaint in the morning I’ll be extremely surprised,” he grumbles. The grumpy amusement on his face is so utterly endearing that she steps forward without even thinking about it. 

“Bly…”

His name comes out of her mouth with more warmth than she’d intended. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Aayla.” 

She shivers. Her name rolls off of his tongue in the most delightful way. She draws a little closer to him, just enough to be intruding in his personal space. When he finally opens his eyes to look at her again she can see his defenses crashing down, crumbling as she reaches out to trace her fingers along the gold across his cheek. 

He swallows hard as if bracing himself and reaches out a hand. His fingers brush against one of her lekku tentatively. She makes a soft noise of encouragement, and his touch grows a little more firm, sliding up to rest just at the junction of her skull. Aayla sighs. She leans forward and rests her forehead against his. 

That makes him pause. His eyes go wide, as if he’s only just realizing what he’s doing. He jerks away from her so fast that she briefly loses her balance. The absence of his touch, as fleeting as it had been, makes her chest ache.

“Aayla, I—General. General, Force, this isn’t—I can’t. You have your—the Code, and the regs—”

Aayla exhales. 

“And what if I wanted to choose, just for a moment, that they did not exist, Commander?” she asks him. “The time for hesitation is over. I will not sit in silence and wait until the war takes even you from me.”

Bly’s expression contorts. The edges of his Force presence go jagged. 

“It isn’t that simple,” he forces out. “We could pretend all we want, but that wouldn’t change the rules.”

“Some would say that the rules are outdated,” Aayla counters. She feels a sharp flash of frustration. It’s tempting to let it stew and grow, but she does her best to let it go. 

“That doesn’t matter, sir. We couldn’t ever… if anyone ever noticed, you would be stripped of both your rank and your title as a Jedi Master. I won’t be responsible for that.”

She mulls over his determined words with a sad fondness. He would give up everything he ever wanted just to keep her safe.

“Fortunately, you are not responsible for that,” she replies smoothly. “I am quite capable of making my own decisions. If I were to be expelled from the Jedi Order it would be because I chose that path.”

He stares her down, horrified. Then he narrows his eyes and sets his jaw.

“I would rather have you with me—with us, with the battalion—as a General and nothing more, than not have you at all.”

Aayla’s frustration comes back, stronger this time. She frowns at him.

“As I told you before, I will not leave my men behind, even if the title of General is removed from me. Nor will I leave my men behind if the title of Jedi is stripped from me. This is a risk that I am willing to take.” 

Bly grimaces and tips his head back, sighing at the sky.

“Sir, regardless, I’m not—I’m not worth that risk. I’m a clone. This isn’t just inappropriate, it’s unfair to you, and I can’t—”

“That is not what I believe,” Aayla interrupts sharply. She feels just a jolt of anger, of outrage that he’s been conditioned to think like that. The emotion is difficult to banish. “You are worth far more to me than you could ever realize.”

He twitches and looks away fast. The rise and fall of his chest comes quicker now. His mind undulates with uncertainty and fear. The uncertainty is understandable, but the fear—that, she doesn’t understand. She steps close to him again and watches him tense, glancing at her as if worried of what she’ll do. 

“What are you afraid of?” she asks in genuine surprise. She is just as new to this as he is, after all, and she wants answers. Bly lets out a stuttering breath. 

“I don’t know,” he rasps. The words ring with honesty. An idea flits on the edge of Aayla’s mind. She reaches up to touch his temple. Despite everything, he leans into the touch.

“Let me see,” she requests. For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything, just stares into her eyes. Ever so slowly, he dips his head in a small nod. Aayla closes her eyes.

When she reaches for his mind, his thoughts all but pull her inside. In an instant she’s deeper into his psyche than she’d originally meant to go. All of his emotions roll over her like a wave. She tries to pull away from them, but it’s too late, and she gets thrown into a whirlwind of sensation—

It’s overwhelming. The first thing to hit her is a tide of devotion so fierce that it feels like a firestorm against her own mind. A distinct longing is next, waxing and waning in strength as he struggles to keep it in check. Then there is a devastating clash of loyalty and restraint and desire and helplessness that makes her head spin. 

In the center of it all, she sees herself. 

It isn’t what she expects at all; isn’t even close to how she imagines herself in her own mind. She stands against an infinite stretch of darkness, lighting the way with her lightsaber outstretched as a brilliant blue beacon. She can sense Bly’s instinctual inclination to follow regardless of where she will lead—even if it means death, even if it means something worse. Through Bly’s eyes she is glorious and powerful and ethereal. Except then there is a sharp contrast, because she fights with all the vigor of a warrior but then she turns to look at him and everything goes soft and suddenly he is overcome by admiration and fondness and a hesitant, tentative love—

Aayla reels back. She struggles to stay above the sea of affection and desire and passion that follows after her doggedly, as if it can’t continue to exist without showing her everything now that she’s stumbled across it. She is jolted to reality. Both of her hands are curled tenderly around Bly’s skull. His eyes are squeezed shut. 

She trails her gaze over his face. Aayla is flustered and panting. She had known that he feels something for her, but she’d never realized to what extent. His self-control is even more impressive now that she’s caught a glimpse of what he truly thinks. 

“Bly—you—?”

He blinks his eyes open and immediately lowers them in shame. 

That won’t do at all. Determination swells in her heart along with a strange sensation of desperation, because she’d known, but she’d never truly understood. He’d kept the full extent of his feelings carefully locked away, and when parts of it had escaped they had only implied a mere fraction of what was really going on inside his head. 

She wants—needs—him to understand that it goes both ways.

When she enters his mind again, she lets Bly’s emotions wash around her instead of hitting her full force. She sinks deep, catching glimpses of memories and snippets of sound—

A battlefield shouldn’t be alluring, but with fire swirling around her and sparks drifting past them, she’s more glorious than anything else he could ever imagine.

He wishes that he could express the sensation that he feels whenever she looks at him like that, how his heart seems to swell three sizes and continue expanding until it’s all but bursting out of his chest. 

Blue. Blue. Blue. He can’t get the color out of his head, can’t stop his eyes from trailing over her skin and noting all of her visible scars, can’t focus right even though he knows that he needs to concentrate.

She makes a bad call. Not even the best Generals are without fault. Brothers die. For all that he admires her she is still flawed, but somehow that doesn’t detract from how badly he wants her, from how much he cares. She is imperfect and scarred but he loves her all the more for it, for how she fights to become better with every breath she takes.

It’s raining. She looks happy. She looks at peace. Her eyes are bright. She’s beautiful. He wants to reach out and touch her. He aches because he can’t. 

Nothing will ever come out of his feelings but he will content himself with the fleeting sensations of joy he finds when she presses her spine to his in the middle of a battle and fights with absolute certainty that he’ll be there to guard her back. 

Jedi aren’t immortal and that has never been more obvious now. She is sick and miserable and tired. He convinces her to leave the bridge under his command for the day and go get some rest. When he drops by her room to update her on the Separatist’s movements she is sprawled out on her bunk, mouth hanging open and drooling. It is possible the most unflattering view of her that he’s ever seen. He hardly cares. He sits next to her anyway, a grin springing to his lips as she stirs and blinks up at him, surprised at his presence. There’s nowhere else that he’d rather be. 

He hadn’t been created to love. Sometimes he wishes that he had been.

There. Hidden in that thought Aayla finds hints of darkness. She catches a hold of the trail of insecurity she had originally intended to follow and chases after it. 

Chain of command aside, Jedi code aside, anything he feels for her is foolish. Bly is not unique, not special despite his rank. Even if there were no restrictions he has millions of brothers who all look the same, so why would she pay any attention to him at all?

He is Kaminoan property. There is no place for love in his purpose. He barely even understands the concept even though he knows the word. He couldn’t possibly offer her what she wants, isn’t worthy to even try. He’s just a clone, nothing more.

It hurts her to feel how deeply those thoughts are woven into his mind. She tugs at them carefully and feels him lurch. Somewhere in the real world she feels hands clutching at her shoulders, but she can’t focus on that right now.    

She won’t be able to replace the thoughts, can’t destroy them as much as she would like to. Instead she presses her own thoughts over his, carefully so that he can sense every detail.

Gold is enthralling to her now. Her eyes get stuck on it automatically. She can only think of armor and tattoos and eyes and tan skin—and a steady presence beside her that she wouldn’t trade for the galaxy. 

They are alone and desperate and fighting. Aayla pushes herself to move faster, to fight harder, to continue even though her limbs are shaking because she won’t let him die, not today. It would hurt more than anything to replace a battalion but it would tear her into pieces and leave her incapacitated to lose Bly.

It’s raining. She coaxes him to step into the open and tilt his head upwards. His Force presence goes still and calm as he stares up into the clouds above them. Raindrops settle in his hair like tiny glass orbs and scatter across the tattoos on his cheeks. She wants to reach out, she wants, she wants. She senses that he does too, but then he pulls away and she marvels at his control even though her chest contracts in disappointment. 

He stands against a hailfire of blaster bolts, unshaken, grounding her along with the rest of his brothers, pistols blazing. She draws strength from his courage and pushes forward. She trusts him with her life. She knows with unshakable certainty that Bly will have her back.

It’s late. The hangar is empty except for them, seated on top of a LAAT with the hangar bay doors thrown wide open to show wide-open space above them. When she turns her head over to look at Bly she sees a wide-eyed awe on his face. He marvels at how different the stars look from here than on Kamino. His joy is tangible. Aayla only has eyes for him. She feels warm and happy and light in a way that she’s never felt before. 

He smiles at her fondly and she feels faint suddenly, as if the single breathtaking, handsome, devoted expression is enough to stop her heart.

Love is dangerous because she is a Jedi. But she looks at him and decides that she doesn’t care.

Aayla lets him feel and see and understand every inch of her yearning, every ounce of her awe. His entire mind quakes under her touch. She feels the knot of darkness shiver and unravel a bit. She can’t get rid of it just yet. That will take time. She dares to hope that she’ll get the chance to try soon. 

She comes back to herself. Bly’s hands are trembling on her shoulders. When she makes a soft noise of concern he wrenches them off of her and presses his fists against his sides. 

“Aayla,” he groans, and he sounds absolutely wrecked. Like he’s seconds from falling apart. His eyes are bright and wide. They’re practically glowing in the dim lighting.    

“I want you,” she tells him firmly, forcing every bit of blunt honesty into her voice as she can. She brushes her thumbs across his cheekbones and then lets her hands drop. “This is worth the risk to me, Bly. But it is up to you.”

She puts the choice in his hands and half expects him to turn away, to mull over everything he’s felt, to hesitate again. 

He does not. 

Instead, he makes a strangled sound, leans in, and presses his lips to hers.

It’s the last thing she’s expecting. She nearly stumbles as a result. His panic spikes into the Force until she grabs his shoulders and kisses him back. 

The Force surges in a flare of heat and electricity around them. Bly exhales shakily against her. The brush of their lips is light and tentative. Aayla gathers herself, curling her fingers into the fabric of his shirt and deepening the kiss. Their mouths slant together. One of Bly’s hands finds her lekku again and strokes it gently. Her knees go weak underneath her at the pleasant sensation, at the feel of his mouth against hers. 

When they break apart, Bly is gasping like he’s dying and can hardly believe his own audacity. Aayla feels heat crawling up her neck. She can’t stop panting either, and she doesn’t know what to do with her hands. 

She’d hoped to get this far, to help him see that he’s worth it, that this is a risk that she’s willing to take, but she hadn’t expected any of that. This is unfamiliar to both of them.

 “I—I didn’t—I—” Bly stammers out, and Aayla just blinks at him, because she isn’t doing much better. 

Neither of them say anything for a long moment. Aayla can’t tear her gaze away from his face. He’s still so afraid, but she can see his mind weighing all of the options, struggling to make a final decision. 

The pinprick of cold on her forearm makes her jerk. It’s followed by another on her lek, and then another on her forehead. 

It’s raining. 

Bly sucks in a sharp breath. 

It rains once in a blue moon on Coruscant. It isn’t unheard of, but it isn’t common either. Aayla remembers a memory from a forest planet months ago, etched into both of their minds with striking clarity and sentiment. Slowly, Bly tilts his head back until he’s looking up into the sky. 

She had shown him that. It sends a thrill down her spine to watch him remember, to feel his Force presence go from raging indecision to solidifying into careful determination.  

The raindrops are growing bigger. She can hear them clattering against the balcony around her. A droplet splatters against her nose. She reaches out to brush the water away and goes still when Bly reaches for her hand, threading their fingers together as if he’s afraid that she’s going to change her mind.

“It’s worth the risk,” he whispers, like a prayer. She smiles at him. After a heartbeat, he returns it. “I want... I want you too.”

His words make Aayla feel giddy, like she’s soaring, light as a feather and free as the wind. The rain comes down around them. It would only take a few steps to enter the room and dry off but neither of them move.

She wants to kiss him again. The relief and elation she feels as she realizes that she actually can now is heady. His lips are still parted ever so slightly. When she leans in again, he meets her halfway. 

It doesn’t matter that they’re going to get drenched. It doesn’t matter that there’s a chain of command or a Jedi code. It doesn’t matter that there’s a war going on and sometimes it’s safer to not get attached. 

She focuses on Bly and finds peace in the rhythm of the rain. It’s worth the risk.

[towerfandoms]

Hanahaki Disease

“When the victim coughs up petals from one sided love”

A/n: Ok so I know I have a bunch of requests to get through but I was reading about Hanahaki disease and thought about Khun and one thing led to another. Regardless I hope you enjoy this even though it’s longgggg. I just feel like this will help me get out of my writing slump so yeah enjoy. And please feedback is always appreciated. Part 2 is now up here

Genre: ANGST, ANGST, ANGSTY ANGST. idk did I mention angst?

Warnings: mentions of death

Word Count: 2.2k

Aguero made it impossible not to believe in love at first sight. His angelic smile, velvety laugh, porcelain skin and his piercing, bright blue eyes. He was the definition of perfection. When you first met him you questioned if he was hand-carved by the Greek Gods themselves.

Khun was a reserved man. He didn’t let many people in. Despite his cold and harsh exterior you had seen something else in his eyes; exhaustion, pain, a little bit of weariness. He was hurting, badly. That’s why you made it your mission to break down those barriers and offer him a little kindness. Try and ease his pain.

Your efforts eventually paid off. Khun considered you as one of his closest companions and cared deeply about you. Although he still couldn’t fully open up to you he let his guard down more around you. And in that moment that was enough.

With each test, every fight, every loss you two went through, the pain lessened knowing you had each other by your side. At first your attraction to him was purely superficial. Nothing more than a typical “high school crush”. However as the years went on these feelings developed into something much bigger. Every time your shoulders brushed it sent a fizzle of electricity down your spine. Or how the blood rushed straight to your face whenever he leaned down to inspect your wounds.

Slowly, everyone around you began to notice. It was to be expected really. Hell, you couldn’t even look at the blue haired man in the eye anymore. Even Bam, who was as dense as a brick, noticed your lingering eyes on Khun whenever he turned his back. If Bam noticed then there was no doubt Khun knew or at the very least had an inkling suspicion. Of course he stayed true to his ways, never letting you know whether he knew about your crush on him or not. Soon these feelings became something much harder to control. They were threatening to explode, crush you. You knew this wasn’t healthy. You had to do something about it. And soon.

So you did what you decided to be the most rational idea. You were going to confess. You were pretty sure he didn’t like you romantically. He never flirted or showed interest in anyone. You supposed he was much too busy trying to survive to court anyone but you still had a little shred of hope. Maybe you’d be the exception. Maybe he was waiting for you.

You shook your head trying to shake away these thoughts as you walked to his room. Getting your hopes up was far too risky especially as you were 99% sure of the outcome. Still it did ease your nerves and even added a light spring in your step as you walked through the hallway.

You slowed down as you neared Aguero’s room. Come on y/n. Now is no time to chicken out. You reached his door and breathed deeply. It’ll be ok no matter the answer. He likes you back, yay. If he doesn’t then that means you got closure and can finally go back to normal. So just knock already damn it. With that, you knocked sharply on the door three times.

You wanted to curl onto the floor and die. Why were you doing this. What if you ruined the friendship. Damn it, damn it, DA-

Your thoughts were interrupted by Khun opening the door. His face contorted in worry when he saw your scared expression.

“Y/n, what’s wrong?!”

“Can we talk inside please,” you barely managed to squeak out.

“Of course.” He opened the door further to let you inside.

When you stepped in, you knew it was now or never. So you let out a shaky breath and tried your best to speak normally.

“I know this is completely out of the blue but I came here to confess. I really like you, Khun. A lot more than friends do.” You nervously chuckled and looked down at the floor, avoiding his face. “Actually it’s be better to say I’m completely in love with you but i know you probably don’t feel the same way about me but i just felt like letting you know”

Only when you finished your tangent did you look back up at him. You expected to see a blank face, maybe surprised. Even a small smile. Not this. Not like he was in agony.

He looked like he was in so much pain it was all you could to stop yourself from reaching out and comforting him. There was something else though mixed with the pain. Pity. Complete and utter sadness… for you. You felt a sense of dread blossoming in the pit of your stomach.

The air felt heavy, it was a struggle to even breathe. Time felt so slow. What was happening? When did it get so cold? Why isn’t he answering?

However Khun smoothed out his features just as fast, quickly replacing the pain with a blank face. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. You always prided yourself on being one of the only people who could tell what Khun was thinking and be able to read his face. But now, you couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

You were afraid.

You swallowed thickly, waiting for his response.

Time ticked by slowly. How long had it been? It felt like 10 minutes though you knew it couldn’t be more than 30 seconds. At last it seemed like Khun finally knew what to say. He opened his mouth to speak. You braced yourself for his harsh words. In fact you prayed they’d be cruel. Anything to help you get over him faster.

“I’m sorry. I appreciate your words and I do care a lot about you but… I’m sorry I don't feel the same. I know this sounds stupid but it would probably be the best for you to get over me.”

Quick answer him now so you can get out of here.

“Of course, I expected this. Thank you, Khun and have a good evening” You surprised yourself by giving him a big smile and quickly walking over to the door before you could hear if he said anything back. You half hoped he would run after you and tell you he shared the same feelings. But you knew this would never happen. Aguero was not this type of man.

He was kinder than expected when rejecting you but still. It hurt so much more than you would’ve thought. Although you expected that answer why was it not the closure you needed. Why did your heart still quicken at the thought of him. You felt tears threatening to spill and you raced to your room before you could see anyone.

Every day was becoming more and more painful. Even looking at Khun hurt. He treated you more or less the same way acting as though the confession never happened but there was a noticeable distance. He was probably trying to give you space and you hated it. Every second of this. Every step was excruciating pain. It took everything in you to hold it all in. To not break down at any second.

Then after a week when you thought you would’ve been over it, came the flowers. You didn’t notice at first how the pain in your lungs wasn’t normal. You chalked it down to heartbreak but when you began coughing up blue petals mixed with blood you knew this was far from normal.

The petals seemed oddly familiar. Blue Himalayan Poppies. Your favourite as they reminded you of Khun’s bright blue hair. Your chest hurt more at the thought. No matter what you did there were always constant reminders of him. You couldn’t escape. You let out an empty laugh. When will this pain end?

Wait- choking up petals??? It sounded familiar. Almost like an old tale your mother used to tell you about. You quickly searched up the symptoms on your pocket and found what you were looking for- Hanahaki Disease.

Hanahaki Disease: It’s a disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings (romantic love only; strong friendship is not enough), or when the victim dies. It can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim's romantic feelings for their love also disappear. There is also a chance the victim may forget their old lover.

Your eyes widened when you read through it. It described your predicament exactly. It was obvious you’d have to get surgery but the thought of forgetting Khun, forgetting your love for him seemed too real. You knew it was stupid clinging on to one sided love like that. But your love for him was one of the main things that had driven you up the tower. Now what. Everything seemed so bleak. You felt so lost and confused.

Stop it, stop it, stop it! You weren’t thinking properly. You had to get surgery. If you didn’t and died, Khun would blame himself. And besides you were in so much pain, it physically hurt to breathe. And these damned petals. Blue. Never letting you forget about your love for Khun. You tried not to think about how you could potentially forget about Khun. Those were just rare cases anyways. Best case scenario you’re fixed and can go back to caring about Khun normally. Like the old times. So you went to the hospital in the tower to get the surgery done.

You decided not to tell anyone about this. Maybe you’ll tell Endorsi after the surgery but she couldn’t be trusted not to blab. You didn’t tell Khun because you didn’t want him to blame himself. You never blamed him for a second. He was allowed not to love you back, as much as that thought hurts. Khun was driven by his desire to get you, Bam, Rak and himself to the top of the tower. Of course he wouldn’t have time to court anyone. You tried to console yourself with the thought that at least you were one his cherished companions. But now, it was ruined. You slapped the sides of ur head trying to get rid of these thoughts. No. after the surgery everything will be ok. You kept repeating this as you walked to the hospital, barely convincing yourself

The surgery was successful. All the roots were removed from your lungs and you could take deep breaths again without feeling like your chest was going to rip apart. However there was something off… you felt like you were forgetting something. But you just had surgery so it was to be expected with the anesthesia.

You didn’t remember the last time you felt this good. The air felt so light. You skipped along, feeling so happy and free. Breathing had never felt better and all you wanted to do was run and around and play like a kid again. Your thoughts were so positive and you couldn’t wait to go back. You had to hurry up though as you had another test soon and you needed to train. Maybe you’ll get Hatz to show you how to use a sword properly. He may seem rude and stand-offish at first he was a sweet boy deep down and you knew he’d be glad to help. Yes everything felt so much better after the surgery. You didn’t know why you hadn’t confessed earlier.

Confessed to who?

You brushed that thought off with still being groggy from anesthesia and nearly skipped up the steps of the penthouse. You felt so giddy and all you wanted to do was laugh and talk. You had a big smile on your face as you rooted through the fridge looking for something to eat. You were so lost in carefree thoughts that you didn’t hear someone creeping behind you.

“Y/n!” came a foreign voice startling you out of your pleasant thoughts. You stood there confused as you couldn’t pinpoint exactly whose voice it was, thought it was familiar.

You turned around, still with a smile on your lips.

“Hm?” you replied, taking in the sight of the person in front of you.

He had an angelic smile, velvety laugh, porcelain skin and piercing, bright blue eyes. He was the definition of perfection. You questioned to yourself if he was hand-carved by the Greek Gods themselves.

“Are you ok? I haven’t seen you in a couple of days?”

“I’m so sorry if this sounds rude but do we know each other?”

[kbstories]

impression//expression

“It’s not like Kirishima had come all this way to U.A. to immediately break the promise he made to himself upon arrival.

It’s just that Bakugou is as feral as they come, and the moment Kirishima recognizes it’s fear he felt crawling up his spine that day, he makes it his personal mission to face it head-on until it’s gone.”

(Or: Being friends with Bakugou Katsuki is anything but a linear experience. Kirishima Eijirou would have it no other way.)

Tags: Kirishima POV, Developing Friendships, Kamino Arc, Kidnapping & Aftermath, Hurt/Comfort, Bakugou Gets A Hug

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Content warning for kidnapping, aftermath of violence. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9.

***

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥)

i’m gonna die (sent 19:08)

no seriously i’m this 👌🏻 close to losing it bro (sent 19:08)

aizawa’s voice is so zzzz and it’s like sir,, i’m begging,,,, (sent 19:09)

a little bit of energy. just a little bit (sent 19:09)

A nudge to his side, somewhat urgent.

shit brb (sent 19:10)

“Dude.”

Kirishima keeps his voice down to a hiss, shooting a glance at Aizawa’s turned back just in case. Hidden behind his pencil case, his phone shows Bakugou has read his messages – near-immediately, as always – before Kirishima locks the screen. His own face is reflected on sleek, innocent black.

Next to him, Kaminari is looking at him like he’s lost his mind. “Don’t dude me, dude”, he whispers back. “Texting in Aizawa’s class? D’you have a death wish?”

Next to Kaminari, Mina leans over her desk, clearly curious and uncaring of her notes crinkling quietly under her elbows. “You? Kiri, paragon of wholesomeness and sunshine, breaking the rules? Lemme guess, it’s because of Bakugou.”

Next to Mina, Sero joins the fray with a muted headshake. “So brave yet so reckless. Truly inspiring.”

“You can say that again. That guy’s scary, man.” That’s Kaminari again. He leans in conspiratorially, nodding at Kirishima’s phone. “You got Blasty’s number? How? He almost bit my head off when I invited him to the 1-A chat.”

“Uh, yeah? We’re besties. But guys…”

If they were anywhere else, Kirishima would let out a whine. All he wanted to do was keep himself awake by texting his bro, is that such a crime? Especially since Bakugou’s the only one of ‘em who is actually allowed out there, where the fun stuff is happening. It’s downright cruel to have a new challenge dangled in front of their eyes like the juiciest steak only to be dragged away to the equivalent of plain steamed broccoli. Or something.

Point is: Kirishima’s bored enough he could cry and Aizawa, bless his insomnia-plagued soul, is making it about a thousand times worse with his monotone mumbling while he continues to write whatever-the-fuck in chalk to illustrate his point.

Three mouths open simultaneously in what Kirishima knows will be a too-loud bout of teasing – a frantic gesture of his hand to shut up, shut up, shut up has identical grins bursting on his friends’ faces.

Grins that disappear the instant the familiar sense of Aizawa’s quirk washes over them. Uh oh.

Aizawa doesn’t even have to say anything. Not even a brief pause registers in his lecture yet Kirishima snaps to attention so hard his buttcheeks clench as he furiously scribbles down what’s on the board. Some sort of… diagram? (It’ll make sense later, Kirishima hopes. And if it doesn’t, there’s always his equally draconic tutor-slash-best-friend he can poke into helping him eventually.)

After a semester at U.A., everyone in 1-A is whipped enough that not a single word is breathed between them for a good fifteen minutes. Aizawa talks, they take notes.

Then the adrenaline wears off and Kirishima finds himself drifting once more, fingers automatically flicking the home button. There, over Crimson Riot’s confident grin, three new messages.

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥)

pay attention (received 19:14)

ffs (received 19:14)

hope aizawa murdered your ass (received 19:16)

No surprises there. Well, the fact that Bakugou has deigned to reply just before a training exercise kind of is, and he even triple-texted which makes a sappy part of Kirishima’s brain think he must’ve rubbed off on him over the past months. The day Bakugou Katsuki discovers emojis can’t be far off now and it will be Kirishima’s greatest achievement to date.

He bites his lip to suppress an amused noise at that. Ignoring the incredulous stare from Kaminari to his right, Kirishima types.

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥)

haha! i lived bitch (sent 19:32)

minus the bitch askdjfhsk sry (sent 19:32)

i’m just tired af lol (sent 19:32)

how’s things on ur end tho? (sent 19:34)

no asses left unkicked i’m sure (sent 19:34)

👊🏻💥💥 (sent 19:35)

Kirishima gets about a solid second to feel good about furthering his pro-emoji agenda before his phone is snatched away by rigid, white cloth. Wide-eyed, his gaze is met by a flat expression that exudes more exhaustion than any human should rightfully have to feel.

“Kirishima”, Aizawa says, as calm as ever. “How kind of you to lend me your attention.”

Lord have mercy. Whichever hell Aizawa is about to unleash on him, Kirishima will be in it for a while. And when that’s over, it’ll be Bakugou’s turn to have a field day with it.

Somehow, Kirishima is actually looking forward to that last part.

*

Then, a voice rings out in their heads. Aizawa jumps into motion. The villains strike.

Afterwards, all Kirishima can do is stand there and watch the forest burn. His phone is silent, held between fingers that won’t stop trembling no matter what he does. He unlocks, checks, locks, only to do it all over again a few minutes or seconds later.

Around him, everything is spinning out of control. Reality is too loud, too bright, already overwhelming where it waits to be acknowledged beyond the soothing green interface of his chat with Bakugou.

The messages are still there. Marked read until they aren’t, and Kirishima stares at that subtle difference like it’s the last thing tethering him to the ground. Blue tick, his best friend is fine. Grey tick–

Bakugou let Kirishima take a photo of him, once. Kirishima had complained about his profile picture being that creepy default silhouette, especially once they started texting on a daily basis. So Bakugou sighed and leaned over the tiny table of the café, his chin propped on one hand and his coffee in the other. He’d kept still just long enough for the shutter to go off and called him a clingy bastard right after.

In the soft morning light, there’d been something warm in his typical glare. It’s still there, tucked away in the top left corner of the screen. Fond, red eyes, looking straight at Kirishima ever since.

Higher and higher, the flames reach for the sky with greedy, cobalt fingers, bright enough to take the stars with them. And Bakugou?

Bakugou is gone.

*

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥)

hey (sent 23:01)

it’s a long shot but (sent 23:03)

are u there? (sent 23:03)

these are going thru so ur phone is on and i thought (sent 23:08)

idk (sent 23:08)

please respond man (sent 23:37)

please (sent 23:58)

katsuki? (sent 00:40)

*

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥)

fuck (sent 3:24)

*

Bakugou Katsuki

um (sent 6:13)

the pros asked for ur number to track it and stuff so i gave it to them (sent 6:13)

turns out almost nobody has it?? so like (sent 6:20)

if u want a new one after all this it’s on me (sent 6:21)

pls don’t be mad haha (sent 6:21)

fuck that actually (sent 7:05)

be as mad as u want baku (sent 7:06)

u can do whatever ok? when u come back (sent 7:09)

free pass. i won’t guard this time (sent 7:09)

just come back (sent 8:00)

they’re looking for u so u gotta come back (sent 8:02)

* 

Baku 💣💥

sry i just (sent 19:55)

ok still going thru (sent 19:55)

that’s good right? (sent 19:57)

i need it to be good (sent 20:05)

yeah (sent 20:06)

*

Baku 💣💥

it’s saturday (sent 2:33)

please be ok (sent 4:46)

i miss u (sent 5:00)

*

Baku 💣💥

we’re on our way katsuki (sent 12:45)

just hold on we’re coming for u (sending…)

wait (sending…)

oh (sending…)

*

Bakugou is quiet.

When all is said and done, injuries patched up and police statements given, Kirishima waits and Bakugou looks… tired. Small. Glancing back at the precinct with eyes a little too wide, a little too hesitant to truly belong to him.

Whatever he’s searching, if he finds it or not – Kirishima can only guess as Bakugou’s shoulders slump further and he mutters, “Let’s just go.”

In retrospect, he was probably talking to his parents. The Bakugous came for their son in a car as expensive as they come, white with chrome highlights and an interior clad entirely in tasteful, beige leather; it’s an aesthetic that’s the antithesis to Katsuki’s. Their expressions are full of love, though, brows drawn in concern carefully left unspoken. His father opens the back door for him first, going for his own in the front, while his mother ruffles Bakugou’s hair within the one-second-window he allows for the touch before shrugging it off.

“Welcome back, brat. We missed ya.”

Familiar phrases laden with far too much weight. From the outside in, it’s just that: Mildly exasperated parents picking up their kid after some school thing that dragged on into the night, or perhaps a late hangout with a friend. No one acknowledges the nightmare-ish three days they’ve left behind by the merit of time passing and the world spinning on and nothing else – the countless people injured or dead, an entire district torn asunder in a conflict much bigger than any of them, especially Bakugou.

Bakugou, who shuffles onto the backseat without saying much of anything. It’s only after Kirishima trails after him and Bakugou’s eyes meet his own over his shoulder that Kirishima realizes that’s what he’s doing.

Then Bakugou’s gaze softens and he kicks the door of the car open wider. “Um”, Kirishima pipes up, the noise of keys clinking together drawing his attention to one Bakugou Mitsuki. “Is it okay if I…?”

She snorts and ruffles his hair, too. “Kid, after what you did tonight, a ride home is the least I can do for ya. C’mon.”

Kirishima bows politely, a mumble of “Thanks, ma’am” waved away immediately. A moment later, Kirishima’s hand is being grabbed and he’s dragged inside. “Get a move on”, Bakugou mumbles, staring pointedly until Kirishima rights himself and digs for the seatbelt with his free hand. The click of the clasp snapping in is oddly loud in the ensuing silence.

It doesn’t last. The moment the engine purrs to life and the lights go off, a heavy guitar riff screeches from cleverly hidden speakers in perfect surround sound and Kirishima jumps. He’s the only one in the car to do so.

“Whoops, my bad”, says Bakugou’s mom as she turns the music down the slightest amount, her smirk – so familiar and yet not – clearly visible in the rear-view mirror. Next to her, Bakugou’s dad chuckles and shakes his head.

Bakugou himself is turned towards the window, the hand against his chin barely hiding the tiny smirk there. Kirishima lets him have it. Anything that’ll replace that lost expression from earlier is good in his books.

“So. Eijirou, right? Nice to finally meet ya.” Mrs. Bakugou checks in with him via the mirror. Her hand rests on the gear selector. “Where to? We’ll bring you home first. I’m sure your parents are worried.”

And oh fuck, Kirishima hasn’t even thought that far ahead yet. When he snuck out of the house a lifetime ago, all his mind was able to process was getting to Bakugou, saving Bakugou, bringing Bakugou back. As much as both his mothers are angels in their own right, they’re also easily worried and twice as buff as him. There haven’t been many occasions which called for them to throw down for their son but they totally would if given half the chance.

If they catch wind of even a fraction of what Kirishima got up to tonight, someone will have to pay. Kirishima’s willing to bet his most prized, limited-edition Crimson Riot figurine that that someone will end up being all of U.A., nationally famous pro heroes or not.

Before any of that can make it out of his mouth, Kirishima’s hand is squeezed and… Oh. Bakugou’s still holding it. Their skin isn’t touching; Kirishima’s sleeve has been pulled down to prevent that.

(It’s one of those things Bakugou does, tracking who and what gets in direct contact with his sweat and how to neutralize it in time. It makes Kirishima’s chest ache that, despite everything that happened, he is still aware of small things like that.)

“He’s crashing at ours tonight”, Bakugou tells his parents rather gruffly. Still looking out the window like there’s nothing unusual about that at all, and Kirishima gapes at him in complete and utter surprise. Bakugou’s grip only tightens.

“Got a problem with that?”

Just like that, Kirishima finds himself able to process speech. “Nope! Not at all. Uh, that is– Mrs. Bakugou, Mr. Bakugou, can I?”

Bakugou’s parents look similarly caught off-guard. To their credit, they merely blink and look at each other, shrugging. Again, it’s the mother who speaks. “That’s Mitsuki and Masaru to you, kid. Let’s go home, then.”

And that’s that. They set off, the car’s movement a quiet thrum that’s drowned out by complicated drum solos and vocals barely scraping past outright growling. Any other day, Kirishima would’ve been ecstatic to finally get to meet the Bakugous. He’d hoard bits and pieces of knowledge about them – such as the fact that Katsuki’s taste in music runs in the family, what the hell – like a dragon does gold coins. The notion that Bakugou invited him to their first sleep-over ever would be the biggest treasure on that pile, for sure.

Because Bakugou Katsuki is anything if not cautious: with his quirk, with his time, with his trust. Because, after days of pacing his room and worrying himself sick and crying until exhaustion took him out, their plan worked.

They pulled it off, Bakugou is back and alive, and Kirishima’s allowed to stay by his side a little bit longer.

He’s here because Bakugou wants him to be and that… feels better than Kirishima can properly put into words. So, no, he doesn’t boast about it, he doesn’t have the energy to – but Kirishima notes and appreciates it nonetheless, relief forming a ball of warmth and light that radiates within him like a tiny sun got stuck between his lungs and his heart. Bit by bit, it melts the tension off Kirishima’s bones until all he can grasp is the steady presence of Bakugou’s hand in his and how heavy his eyelids feel.

Kirishima could sleep for a week straight and still crave a nap afterwards. Probably.

There’s something he has to do before he crashes, though. With a gentle squeeze, he frees his hand to grab his phone and winces at the dozens of unread messages and missed calls that greet him. Both the group he has with his family as well as the one for 1-A have been running hot most of the night, reducing his battery to a pitiful 12%.

Opening up the chat with his moms, Kirishima scrolls to the bottom of the increasingly worried barrage of texts and hesitates, his fingers hovering over the keypad. Once he starts typing, he’ll have about a minute before shit really hits the fan.

💪🏻Kirishima Power 💪🏻

guys i’m so sorry!!! (sent 21:58)

i know ur worried and stuff and i swear i’ll explain later ok?? (sent 21:58)

 just wanna let u know i’m safe!! staying over at baku’s tonight (sent 21:58)

he’s here and safe too (sent 21:58)

🙏🏻🙏🏻 (sent 21:59)

He pauses then, reading that last part over and over again. Safe. Safe, safe, safe. A smile cracks Kirishima’s lips apart and it remains there, steadfast through the flood of new messages rolling in.

*

Bakugou’s room is both everything Kirishima expected it to be and at the same time… not.

It’s huge, for one, the typical bed-wardrobe-desk setup expanded by a couch and a beanbag, a TV with a variety of game systems hooked up to it, a handful of shelves filled to the brim with books and manga and oh, a whole freaking drum set taking up a corner by itself. The walls are plastered with band posters and signed set lists and – less blatant but still there – the odd All Might merch Kirishima knows Bakugou would strangle him for mentioning, so he doesn’t.

What comes out of his mouth is: “Dude! I didn’t know you played drums. That’s so cool!”

Everything is kept in the triad of black-orange-green Kirishima recognizes from a certain hero costume. A few discarded shirts aside, it’s really tidy. So much so that Kirishima feels ashamed of the state of his own room just by seeing this.

The feeling is compounded by Bakugou picking up those shirts and throwing them in the hamper first thing, a quiet tch indicating he’s annoyed by it. Kirishima isn’t up to outing himself as an unrepentant walking mess in comparison – instead, he makes a beeline for the bookshelf with the manga, eyes drawn to a row of covers he’d recognize in a heartbeat.

“Wha– I’ve been looking for these for ages! They’re sold out every time I try to catch up on ‘em.”

A short glance at Bakugou is answered with a shrug and an eye-roll: It’s Bakugou-speak for do whatever the hell you want. Kirishima pulls out the volume he stopped at and leafs through it.

It’s meant as a distraction for Bakugou, a space for him to drop the put-together façade and breathe without people constantly fussing over him. It’s honestly what Kirishima would rather be doing right now (exploring his best bro’s room be damned) but it’s not what Bakugou needs. Well, what Kirishima thinks he needs.

It’s hard to get a read on him without the constant snark and pointed glares. With some dinner in their bellies and Bakugou’s parents now safely downstairs, the expression that fits nowhere on the Angry Bakugou Face catalogue is back. Kind of uncomfortable and so… absent.

Kirishima is really starting to hate that expression.

It’s entirely accidental that Kirishima actually gets into reading. One chapter turns to three, turns to five, and the troubles and worries whirling ever-tighter in his chest ease for a bit until–

Woosh. A soft, balled-up something knocks against the back of his head. Kirishima startles and almost drops the manga, a vaguely alarmed noise stopped short by the sight of Bakugou in sweats and a well-worn, black shirt. His hair is wet. Wild as ever. At Kirishima’s feet: A similar outfit including a towel.

“Bathroom’s that way. Leave your clothes out by the door, I got special detergent for the nitro. Shampoo and shit’s in the shower, there’s a toothbrush for you by the sink. Use it.”

Kirishima opens his mouth.

Bakugou sighs. “It’s just a fucking toothbrush, Kiri. Wreck it for all I care.”

Kirishima closes his mouth. He nods. His phone is quickly dug out of his pocket and set aside, then he slips out to shower.

A good fifteen minutes later, he opens the door to let out a gust of steam and sees his clothes are gone. The hallway is empty, half-lit by the light coming from downstairs. The Bakugous have been as nonchalant about their spontaneous guest as Bakugou himself; even so, Kirishima tries not to linger or make too much noise as he sneaks back to Bakugou’s room.

“Baku. I’m back.”

Bakugou gives him a grunt of acknowledgement from where he’s fitting some sheets over the couch, folded out to provide a decently sized bed. There’s a pillow and a pile of blankets next to him, wrapped in fresh linen as well. It’s unlikely he’s stopped doing stuff since Kirishima left and if he is about ready to crash in five to ten minutes, he can’t imagine how Bakugou is doing right now.

Y’know, the guy who just survived being kidnapped by Japan’s newest and most notorious villain menace. No amount of pretense can make that simple fact undone.

Kirishima pads over to help, the offer to take over already on his lips but– Too late. The last corner is already being tucked in and laid flat with grim-faced efficiency. Left with nothing else to do, Kirishima sits down on the very edge, eyes downcast and fingers fiddling with the hem of his borrowed shirt. There’s some sort of band logo on it, an English word written in that typical death-metal-font that looks like someone dumped a bunch of white sticks in a pile and called it a day.

It’s soft. A little loose and frayed around the edges.

“Hey, Baku?”

Taking the blankets, Bakugou dumps them in Kirishima’s lap. “Mh?” He makes to step away and Kirishima doesn’t think, just reaches out and catches the back of his shirt.

“Dude, seriously. Just… sit down for a minute. Please?”

And Bakugou… listens. He stops, he frowns at Kirishima for a moment like he’s trying to figure out what his deal is, he sighs like he’s been presented with the world’s most aggravating puzzle – and then he tells Kirishima to scooch. “What? I’m not gonna sit on the fucking floor”, he says.

Kirishima can’t keep the relief off his face as he gladly makes room on the couch, leaning against its arm and tucking his legs in. Once Bakugou has settled, cross-legged with an elbow propped on the backrest, Kirishima throws the blanket over both of ‘em. Might as well get comfortable while they still can.

“Okay.” He steels himself with a long, slow breath. “I know you hate this kinda thing and we’re both tired and… stuff. Still, though: Are you okay?”

Bakugou gives him a look, which– Okay, fair. It’s a dumb question with an obvious answer. Kirishima doesn’t back down, though, humming to buy himself some time to rephrase.

“Like… It’s fine if you’re not. Okay, I mean. And if you’d rather go the fuck to bed and not think about this for a while that’s fine, too. But that was pretty rough and you’ve been, um, quiet. And stuff. So, I’m kinda worried. Y’know?”

Kirishima pauses. A bit lower, he mumbles: “And I missed you. So yeah.”

At some point, he dropped his gaze to his hands, limp and useless in his lap. Kirishima swore not to be a coward anymore but it’s hard, to speak and ask about things in full awareness he has no fucking clue what he’s doing.

All he wants is for Bakugou to be okay. That’s all that matters, at the end of a day like this.

“I’m not”, Bakugou says, tentatively. Like he’s making up his mind as he goes. “I’m not gonna waste your time with ‘I’m fine’. I’m not. This shit’s fucked up.” And again he sighs, sounding so fucking tired Kirishima’s heart squeezes in sympathy.

“I haven’t slept in three fucking days; my shoulders are killing me from using my quirk and sitting chained to that stupid chair and whatever the fuck else. The League scouted me specifically because they thought I’d make a good villain and fuck them for that. Fuck them. But it’s just… It’s whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

Whatever Kirishima expected, it’s not that. He looks up and into Bakugou’s eyes and–

He can’t mean that, can he? Kirishima searches his face for evidence to the contrary, traces the tension around Bakugou’s mouth and the exhaustion smudged under his eyes and the line between his brows, growing deeper under Kirishima’s scrutiny. It all reads defeat. It hurts.

They won, right? A childish voice within Kirishima can’t help but cling to that even as he looks back down. They won, and things are supposed to get better when you win.

“People got hurt. People died, Kiri. Heroes, too.” Bakugou takes a shaky breath, a hand going to his hair and rubbing it roughly. “Fucking… Best Jeanist was there and nobody at the precinct wanted to tell me if he’s alive or dead or what. All of Kamino Ward is fucking gone and All Might–”

Bakugou’s voice cracks right down the middle and it hurts. Like there’s a beast tearing through Kirishima’s chest to rip out his heart and throw it to the floor, stubbornly beating as it bleeds out.

Kirishima wants to say something. Anything. All he can hear is Bakugou’s breathing but it’s all wrong, off-rhythm and thread-bare and upset, and any doubt what that means is erased as Bakugou’s hand clenches on the sheets and he sniffs, wet on the exhale.

“Baku–”

“Don’t. Kiri, don’t–”

He’s always been like that, ordering him around and demanding things when politeness dictates to ask for them instead. His tone is as close to pleading as Kirishima’s ever heard from Bakugou, though, and it twists him up inside to the point he feels distantly nauseous.

“Don’t look.” Bakugou isn’t supposed to sound like that. Not now, not ever. “Okay? Don’t f-fucking– Don’t look at me right now.”

“Okay”, Kirishima says. “I won’t.” His own voice is a mess as well, trembling all over the place. “I won’t, Nitro. I won’t.”

You’re safe, is what he wants to tell him. It’s okay, you’re safe now. That’s not what Bakugou is asking of him. Kirishima can’t stop himself from crying because it’s always been hard not to when the people he loves are doing it, but… He tries. For Bakugou, he’ll always try.

Through eyes heavily clouded by tears, he sees Bakugou’s hand tighten, knuckles going white and bloodless. Painfully tense, and Kirishima can’t stand the sight of that, either.

He shuffles a little closer to place his hand over that fist, careful to only touch the back of Bakugou’s hand. Kirishima whispers, “I’m here”, and Bakugou audibly swallows. He lets him slip his fingers in-between his own.

Holding on, just as he did in the car and when they met in mid-air, that desperate instance that decided whether he would make it out alive or not.

Bakugou holds on even as he breaks for good and his shoulders shake with his sobs. As he continues to breathe in gulps of air that sound strangled and desperate, through tears that leave a pattern of uneven dots on the blanket. By morning they will be gone without a trace: The sun will come up, the world will continue to travel around it, and time will reveal the road they walk on as they walk it, step by step by step.

Just because it’s meant to pass doesn’t make this moment any less real. Any less important. Kirishima sits there and listens to his best friend cry. He remembers days spent without him and the mad dash to save him. He thinks of dumb questions and obvious answers.

It’s hard to tell if this is one of them, so he gathers all his courage and asks: “Katsuki. Can I hug you?”

Just like last time, Bakugou doesn’t say anything. He laughs, a watery, humorless thing – and he pulls at Kirishima’s shirt to crush him to his chest. His arms wind around Kirishima’s neck, Bakugou’s face pressing against his hair where Kirishima won’t be able to see him.

It’s fine. Kirishima’s great at hugs; he can totally work with that. Clenching his eyes shut, he adjusts his grip around Bakugou’s waist so he can rub his back, following the bumps of his spine. Up and down, over and over. Bakugou goes boneless in their embrace, not about to let go anytime soon and neither will Kirishima.

Eventually, Kirishima tucks his head against Bakugou’s shoulder, blinking sleep from his eyes. Safe. He doesn’t fight the sharp-toothed smile on his lips. Bakugou mumbles, “Fucking sap”, nearly drowned out by their collective sniffling.

It sounds a whole lot like thank you. Kirishima’s smile only grows.

>>Chapter 5

[honsoolie]

don’t rush | 02

pairing: Yoongi/reader

genre: slight enemies to lovers, college au, fluff, eventual smut, classical pianist!yoongi, violinist!reader, they’re both actually really into each other but won’t admit it

warnings (for this chapter only): mentions of stage fright/performance anxiety, swearing, sexual references, slight angst, dad jokes :|  

words: 6k 

rating: +18

summary: You know, when Min Yoongi’s face isn’t screwed into an accusatory scowl, he looks exactly like the kind of guy you’d have no trouble falling in love with. Or, the conservatory au where Yoongi helps you get over your stage fright. In more ways than one.

a/n: didn’t plan to take this long for an update, life gets in the way, you know the drill. read 01 here and as always, this is crossposted to ao3 :) 

When you get inside, the warmth welcomes you in. You’re not quite sure if it’s from the heating in the hallway or how Yoongi’s eyes had shone in the moonlight. You lean against the inner door frame, a happy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, legs a little weak in the knee. You feel light-headed, maybe from being up late, maybe from your exhausting day, maybe from the lingering remnants of Yoongi’s cologne. 

Did that really just happen? Did he really just ask for your number? Was this all a dream?

The euphoria is short-lasting, however. You still have some assignments waiting for you, and only a couple hours left until your morning classes. The tiredness never lets up, and your limbs heavy again as you make your way inside the lobby of your dorm.  

Unknown number (2:47am): hi this is yoongi 

Unknown number (2:47am): did you get inside ok? 

You (2:48am): yeah

You (2:48am): did u? 

  Yoongi (2:50am): im walking back now 

Yoongi (2:50am): you should sleep soon :// 

  You (2:51am): I still have hw :( 

You (2:51am): text me when ur back inside too 

  Yoongi (2:53am): lmaoo is it counterpoint hw 

Yoongi (2:54am): it’s so sweet that you care for my safety ;( 

  You (2:54am): yes sadly 

You (2:55am): ofc I care, we can’t have our amazing star pianist get hurt 

  Yoongi (2:55am): im home now

Yoongi (2:58am): you have a thing for praise, don’t you 

Even though you can’t see him, you splutter alone in your room, roommate fast asleep. There is no way that means what you think it means. 

You (3:00am): idk where u got that from 

You (3:03am): maybe i do, you’ll have to find out 

  Yoongi (3:04am): I would, but you have to finish your analysis worksheet :/ 

  You (3:15am): ugh, fuck it

You (3:15am): im going to sleep 

You (3:15am): ill just wake up early tomorrow to finish it before class 

  Yoongi (3:16am): what? No goodnight? >:( 

Yoongi (3:17am): some manners you have 

Yoongi (3:17am): what a rude girl 

  You (3:18am): aw have i been bad? 

You (3:18am): I’m sooooo sorry 

You (3:19am): gn 

The minutes tick by, and you grow more indignant than you should. Is he serious? 

Who doesn’t say goodnight back? Maybe you scared him off. Maybe all this “flirtatious” banter was just how Yoongi talked to his friends. How would you know? You don’t know anything about him. 

The same insidious doubt creeps back in. Maybe this is all a game to him. Maybe he just wanted to introduce himself to another music student in the department, you all were supposed to know each other anyway. Maybe, worst of all, he had really only meant to wake you up in the music building as a simple courtesy, no intent behind it. You groan as you sink into your bed, cradling your head in your hands. 

You (3:27am): some hypocrite you are 

  Yoongi (3:30am): I was in the showerrr relax 

Yoongi (3:31am): hm you have been bad 

Yoongi (3:33am): maybe I should punish you 

  You (3:29am): u wish 

You (3:30am): but goodnight for real, we have class in five hours :”( 

  Yoongi (3:31am): goodnight

Yoongi (3:31am): save me a spot next to you 

~

You were in the world’s smallest big crisis. 

Was Yoongi actually serious when he asked you to save a seat? Or were you just indulging in wishful thinking? Was he flirting with you last night? And if he was, what are you supposed to do now? 

Whatever he meant, you would have to face him now. 

The endless litany of maybes and what-ifs grows louder in your head, even louder than last night during your text correspondence with him.You elect to use your backpack to save the seat next to you as class time draws nearer, chiding yourself for overthinking something so casual, but it does nothing to soothe your existential anxiety. 

“Thanks for saving me a spot, I’m so glad you remembered.” A voice brings you out of your reverie. It takes a moment to register who it is at first. Your eyes meet the traditional college garb first, sweatpants and an overwashed fundraising t-shirt, then the half-tamed cowlick, that ever-present cup of coffee. Your breath catches in your throat, breathtaking despite the casual circumstances. It’s just another class lecture, you chastise yourself, but your gut twists nonetheless. 

Seeing Yoongi in such close quarters is still an adjustment for you, his presence (or even the thought of being close to him) a shock to your body. You had spent so much time languishing after him that even now, it still feels like waking up into a dream. 

You clear your throat, stalling, “Yeah, putting my backpack in the seat next to mine was sooo hard. You should compensate me for my labor.” 

You try to put on the flirty smile that you were wearing last night, but it feels like a grimace. God, you are way too nervous for this. 

You realize you’ll never get tired of the way he laughs at your shitty jokes, the way his shoulders shake and eyes crinkle at the corners. 

“Yeah, I will, don’t you worry about that.” He sinks into the seat next to you and doesn’t spare you a second glance. 

Dr. Won walks in, the picture of put-togetherness, killing whatever flirty response you had formulated. 

You thought you had enjoyed having a crush before, but admiring someone and imagining a life together from afar was worlds away from talking and sitting next to said object of affection. This shouldn’t be that big of a deal. You shouldn’t be tripping all over yourself when Yoongi sits next to you in lecture. 

Whatever Dr. Won is saying is drowned out by Yoongi sitting next to you. It feels deeply unfair how he affects you, when he gets to sit next to you like nothing important is happening. It’s just another day in lecture, preparing for the midterms coming up. 

He’s not even doing anything, minding his own business. You shouldn’t be swooning when he is just sitting there, again bouncing his leg, taking diligent notes. From the furtive glances you steal, even his handwriting is attractive. Endearing, even if it was a little messy and looping over the printed lines.

~

True fact: the only reason why Yoongi fidgets so much is because of the effect you had on him. It drives him up the wall, the way you keep tucking your hair behind your ear. He envies your unfaltering concentration, the look in your eye when you see something on the Powerpoint slides that you have to jot down. 

Yoongi can’t stand to silently sit next to you without doing anything anymore. Taking his pen, he scrawls on the corner of your neat notes. He knows it’ll piss you off, but that’s the reaction that he wants. 

  do you have any idea what is going on 

  He watches carefully for your reaction. Satisfaction creeps into his neutral expression when you notice, confusion turning into what could only be a lovestruck smile, and then into an irritated grimace. Fuck, even the curve of your wrist was enough to drive him crazy. You pick up your pen, writing back. 

  No, stop writing on my stuff 

  Okay, new plan, Yoongi concedes. He settles for writing on the corner of his own notes, tearing off the corner. He slips the paper into your lap, fingertips skimming the top of your thigh. He doesn’t notice, but he leaves a trail of goosebumps in his wake. 

  don’t you think dr. won dresses like an old hag 

  You write back on the scrap of paper: 

actually you could learn a thing or two from her 

  Yoongi smirks, in classic Yoongi fashion. 

You know I would rock a long skirt like her 

  Yoongi watches you read his message, smile, and then tuck the note into your notebook. 

~

After class, Dr. Won reminds everyone of the midterm coming up two weeks from now, and that’s when Yoongi senses an opportunity. The two of you walk out of class together, forced to walk side by side because of the student foot traffic.

“Do you like, want to study together sometime?” Yoongi blurts out, louder than he needs to be, even among the hum of the other students. 

 He clears his throat. “I mean, we’ve shared a lot of classes, so.” 

You can’t help but laugh in surprise, or maybe incredulousness. You resist the urge to let the satisfaction show on your face. “I didn’t know you ever noticed.” 

“Of course I did. You’re like, the biggest nerd on the planet.” Even when Yoongi is teasing you, he can’t help but sound bashful. 

You gasp in mock offense. “There’s nothing wrong with being a nerd.” You both stop, standing at the mouth of the lecture hall. 

“Of course not.” He’s awfully close to you, close enough that you can see the mole on the tip of his nose. “That’s why I’m asking you to be my study buddy.”

It’s not necessary to be standing this close. Sure, the hallway is busy, but not that busy. 

“Study buddy? That sounds lame.” You scoff, playing hard to get. Both you and Yoongi know you’re going to say yes anyway. 

“What else do you want me to call you? My homework homie?” 

“Uh, yeah . That sounds way better than study buddy. ” You’re more proud of your humor than anything else, even if it earns a deserved eye-roll from Yoongi. 

“And midterms are coming up. So you know, mutually beneficial.” Yoongi takes a sip from his coffee, peering at you from behind the rim.   

“Like… friends with benefits?” You can’t help yourself. It’s just too easy to flirt with him. 

Yoongi tongues his cheek, he grins. “Only if you want it to be.” He’s having way too much fun with this. 

You try to hide your reaction, but Yoongi notices anyway. (He notices a lot of things you don’t realize.) Your wide-eyed shock, the blush that’s flushing down your neck, the way you open your mouth as if to say something equally as flirtatious back, your laugh, like this is actually way more casual than it is. 

“So I’ll take that as a yes,” He says. You could get used to the playful lilt in his voice. 

“Only if you promise you won’t just copy my work.” You cross your arms in front of your chest, suddenly very aware of how tall he is. 

“I live and die by the honor code, y/n. Of course I won’t,” Yoongi says, leaning ever closer to you in the cramped hallway. 

You quirk an eyebrow. “Does a man of honor text me like you did last night?” 

“Oh come on. If you’re going to be friends with me you’re going to have to learn to laugh at dirty humor.” Friends? It’s a start, at least. 

“Who said that I didn’t like dirty humor?” 

“Hmm, I did.” There’s a glint in his eyes that wasn't there before. “You’d have to be a woman of your word and show me.” 

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” You flash an innocent smile, like you don’t see the implication of what he’s saying. 

~

Tuesdays have always been the most bittersweet day of the week for you. It’s lesson day, but oh, it’s lesson day. It feels like the day of judgement, every single week. It’s a culmination of all the blood and tears that you’ve poured into your music in the past week, another chance at evaluation. You’ve known your violin teacher longer than you’ve been in college, and it still shouldn’t scare you this much.

The nervousness spins and dips in your chest as you make your way up the winding stairs that lead to the music building. You usually soothe the apprehension by reminding yourself of all the things you’ve done to prepare, just like you usually do before you go out on stage. This week you were supposed to get the rest of the Bach partita memorized and cleaned up, but it still resides in your memory as disjointed bits and pieces of what it’s actually supposed to sound like. You try to run through the parts that you were stuck on last night, but you draw a blank. You usually don’t take this long to commit pieces to memory, but when you open up your score, all you can think about is the unmoving stare of the audience. Seeing your life flash before your eyes every time you stare at your pencil markings isn’t exactly conducive to productive practice sessions. 

As you retrieve your violin from your locker and make your way to the practice room, you feel like you’re preparing yourself for your own undoing—every scale, every tick of the metronome—another step towards your demise. 

It shouldn’t be this serious, but the pitter-pattering of your heart says otherwise. You glance at the clock. It’s time. You pack up now, so you have a couple extra minutes to wait solemnly outside of her office, staring at the posters that advertise the professionals who come to perform concerts at your college. Next week, a pianist and violinist duo is coming. In the picture, they’re smiling proudly next to a Steinway piano. They look proud of themselves. They probably don’t feel like they’re allergic to the stage, probably live for the audience’s applause. That’s probably how they ended up there on the poster, after all. 

Your violin teacher isn’t scary. She’s a homey, lovely old woman whose wrinkles come from a lifetime of smiling. She’s the type to bring you sweet, homemade pastries that are almost as warm as her hugs during the toughest parts of the semester. Which makes the moments when she’s unhappy all the more painful. It’s not her fear that plagues you, but disappointment. 

The door clicks open, and you have no more time to ponder your failures as a musician. You gather your things and head inside. Nothing inside her office has changed since the previous week. The same teetering stack of well-loved method books sits on her chair, the same humidifier whirring steadily in the corner, the same Dr. Kim Hyung-Seo sitting on the piano bench. 

“Good afternoon, y/n! How’s the Bach coming along?” She asks, like you haven’t spent the past week treating this piece like your mortal enemy. She takes a sip of her warm chamomile tea, from the same snowman-shaped mug that she’s used every week, because she is that endearing. In another life, she would probably be your grandmother. 

“Good morning. Ah, you know…” You trail off and gesture into the air, trying to hide your grimace. How could you possibly describe the unease and unsureness around performing without crossing some kind of professional boundary? 

“Let’s hear it, it’s okay. Are you all warmed up?” You nod as you unpack your things again. As you move to put the Bach score on the music stand, she tuts. 

“Didn’t we agree that this would be memorized last week?” Dr. Kim flips through her lesson notes, inky blue scrawling over the pages. “Yeah, it should be memorized. Close the score, darling.” Usually, when Dr. Kim calls you darling, warmth unfurls in your chest and you beam. You’re not feeling particularly warm right now. 

“Ah, okay…” With slow reluctance, you close the score, the plain paper cover mocking you. You lift your bow to your violin, and shut your eyes. You don’t want to watch this. 

~

Yoongi (4:38pm): Hey 

Yoongi (4:38pm): wanna study tonight :] 

If there’s anything Yoongi is good at, it’s having perfect timing. You half-walk, half-run out of the music building, sucking frigid air into your lungs. The cold weather seems to force the tears back into your eyes. If there was ever a worst-case scenario for how a lesson could go, then that was what just played out in the music room. 

Shutting your eyes won’t stop the barrage of images, playing the world’s cruelest slideshow behind your eyelids. Your teacher’s pursed lips, the still fingers clasped over her mug, the pinched brow. 

“y/n, we don’t have much more time to clean it up…” Her words echo in your head. “We’ll try again next week…” The disappointment was the worst thing, the downward tone in her voice. “I expected better…” 

You (5:15pm): maybe 

You (5:15pm): what time? 

  Yoongi (5:20pm): like now 

Yoongi (5:23pm): are you busy? 

  You (5:25pm): no I just finished up a lesson 

You (5:26pm): i’m about to study in the library if you want to join me 

  Yoongi (5:30pm): I don’t want to go to the library :( 

  You (5:31pm): why not 

  Yoongi (5:32pm): if I feed you dinner will you come to my apartment 

Yoongi (5:33pm): I really don’t want to walk to the library it’s too damn cold 

  After all, the best way to a woman's heart is through her stomach.

  You (5:35pm): fine 

You (5:35pm): it better be a hell of a dinner 

  Yoongi (5:36pm): of course it will 

Yoongi sends you his location, and you’re walking as fast as you can through the campus to make it to his apartment before you can freeze your fingers off. 

~

Yoongi’s expression is nothing short of scandalized when you show up at his door. It’s a typical mouse hole apartment, his front door identical to all the other ones that you’d passed to get here. 

“You’re not wearing gloves? In this weather?” 

“I don’t have any…” You rasp out. You’re tired. Your throat hurts from trying to hold tears back during your entire lesson, and you have no spirit left to give Yoongi an innuendo-laced comeback. 

I expected better. 

“Oh my god, you’ve been playing violin for how many years and nobody ever told you to wear gloves when it’s cold?” He leads you inside, the warmth abating the cold that’s wormed its way underneath your clothes and into your bones. 

“For God’s sake, y/n, hasn’t anyone ever told you about the importance of blood circulation?” Yoongi clasps your hands between his, rubbing and blowing air on them to warm them up. He doesn’t notice your surprise amid his chastising, muttering something about common sense. You don’t try to keep your guard up this time, just trying to bite tears back at the mention of musicianship. The firm press of his hands grounds you. 

“There.” He smiles, proud of himself. “Warm now?” 

Oh yeah, you’re definitely warm. In every dimension of the word. But you don’t tell him that, so you settle for a weak nod. 

“You can put your stuff there. I’m hungry now, let’s eat first?” You hum in affirmation as you settle your heavy backpack on his cramped couch. 

It turns out that Min Yoongi’s idea of gourmet cooking is heating up two freezer-burnt Hot Pockets while you watch him putter around the tiny kitchenette. This is the first time you’ve ever seen him without his glasses, and this is when you finally internalize that Yoongi will always look good no matter what he does or wears or says. 

“You made it seem like you were cooking,” You say, just to fill the silence. 

“Uhhhh, I don’t know who told you I was capable of cooking, but they were wrong. I can show you a good time in other ways, no?” 

You snort. 

In hopes of saving time, he microwaves both of Hot Pockets at the same time. You silently bristle at the fact that even your dinner is getting more action than you are these days. 

You and Yoongi eat together in his tiny living room, sitting on mismatched stools.  

“How did your lesson go?” Yoongi says, more focused on eating than on you. 

“Oh…” You set your Hot Pocket down, sighing in defeat. The image of Dr. Kim sitting behind the piano bench, her dissatisfaction like a noxious cloud. “I… I…  got ripped apart. I’m a little behind with preparing for the Bach festival, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing I do or prepare will make me less stressed about it.” You slump onto the counter, recounting all the things you did wrong in your lesson today. I expected better. 

“What’s the stress about? We still have over a month, right?” You’re suddenly jealous of Yoongi. His nonchalance, his seemingly constant reassurance that everything is going to be okay. 

“I’m not worried about that… just, no matter how much I practice, I’m gonna fuck it up on stage.” Your forehead pinches in frustration. 

“Are you that nervous?” 

“I’ve always been this nervous. For any performance. I haven’t performed alone in a while… and you know. It’s Bach, and everyone expects me to do some amazing job, and it’s like, I don’t know if I can deliver that and-” Yoongi eases his hand on your shoulder, calm, reassuring. He looks concerned. Like he cares. Like a friend. 

“When was the last time you played something just for the fun of it?”

“I don’t know, maybe my freshman year? I used to arrange themes from movies.” 

“We should work on something together, just for fun. We’re such a perfect instrument combo, there’s so much repertoire for violin and piano.” 

“What did you have in mind? Do you even have enough time for that?” (You know you don’t have enough time for that.) 

“It doesn’t even have to be a difficult piece. It could be something easy or hard, I don’t care.” Yoongi ponders his next words over a bite of his food. “I… I... just want to see you less stressed out. And music should always be fun, not just for a grade. What kind of music would you be making if you weren’t happy?” 

“I don’t know…” 

“I know this one Brahms piece that I think you’d like. Totally fits your vibe. We can just work on it slowly, you know? Or we could arrange the Anpanman theme song, I don’t care.” 

~

“I think I’m mostly good for the midterm, except for the composer dates,” Yoongi spins around in his office chair, dragging his feet on the ground. 

“Me too,” You say, as you drink in the sight of his room. For someone who claims to abhor studying and all things academic, Yoongi appears to be quite the organized student. Despite the constant claim that his education is merely a necessary evil, he keeps his notes organized in uniform binders on a well-cared for bookshelf. The bookshelf is adjacent to the extremely detailed wall calendar, marked full with due dates and deadlines in pens of various colors. 

He runs his fingers over the binders to locate the binder allocated to the species counterpoint class you’re taking together. 

“I already have flashcards for everything before the Romantic Era, but I’m so fucked for everything else.” 

“Why not just use Quizlet like everyone else?” You say. You eye his neatly made bed and the Kumamon stuffed animal shoved hastily underneath it. 

“Back in my day, we used flashcards like cavemen,” Yoongi reasons, despite the fact that your birthdays are months within each other. “And besides, they feel better in your hand.” Of course, they’re indexed by color and musical era. 

~

“Ugh, I hate sitting at my desk. My back is starting to hurt,” Yoongi says, despite having worked for about ten minutes. “Do you want to lay down?” He pats the fluffy comforter adjacent to him. Yoongi doesn’t wait for your response however, plopping down on the bed with an audible thump. 

“Okay, old man,” You jibe, but you’ve also been sitting for a majority of the day. Your back is aching too, but you’ll never admit it to him. 

Sometimes, at times like these, you wish you could just muster up the courage and stop playing this game of cat and mouse with him. When you lay on his sheets that smell like him, quizzing each other, you wonder what would happen if you confessed your feelings for him, right then and there. 

Or outlined exactly how exactly you would take his cock in your mouth, given the chance. Other times, you consider the fact that he might like to play with his food before diving in. Whatever it was, it scared you, the unease climbing up your spine and staying put. 

You wonder if he understands the implication of you so casually lounging on his bed, but then you realize that you likely don’t exist in the realm of romantic possibilities for him. He likely sees you as the nerdy, sexless violinist that spends all her time slaving away in the practice room or the library. That’s why you’re here, after all. To help study for the midterms coming up. “Being friends with him is better than nothing,” you tell yourself, but you can’t really bring yourself to believe it. 

You don’t remember, or at least don’t care to, when Yoongi started touching every aspect of your life. It’s really only been a couple of weeks since the two of you started studying together. You don’t dare to imagine how much of your thoughts he would occupy if you continue your friendship into the coming months. If your crush of massive proportions was bad before, it’s truly out of hand now. It certainly didn’t help that he actually knew you existed now. He spammed you gifs of baby animals while he was on the way to class, texted you links to performances of pieces that he was working on. He even began to send you teasing texts on the mornings that he made it to the practice rooms before you. 

Every experience you have is colored by thoughts of him. The coffee that you drink like ambrosia conjures up images of him sitting across from you in some far-off sunlit cafe, laughing at all your jokes. On the nights when sleep escapes  you, you lay awake rehashing over and over what you had said to him on the previous day. You even fall into reveries when he’s sitting there right next to you. 

 It’s inescapable, especially with the Bach Festival looming over your head. The more time you spend in the practice room, the more you go back to that one fateful night. You can still see the image of him now, sitting before the piano, playing Chopsticks. 

You both make your way through the fat deck of flashcards, Yoongi quizzing you first. 

“J.S. Bach?” You note to yourself even the upswing in his voice was cute. How did you ever let yourself get so whipped?

“1685 to…” You falter, still stuck on his voice. Even his voice drives you crazy. 

“Come on, you should know this.” He drives his point home by poking you in the side, and he likes the gasp that you make. 

“1750.” Of course you know Bach’s birth and death dates by heart. You see it every time you open up your score. Even the scant prod he gave you in the side, over your clothes, is enough to make your skin heat up. 

“And if you ever tickle me again, you won’t live long enough for midterms,” You threaten, but your harsh tone of voice doesn’t reach the light in your eyes. 

“Brahms?” 

“Ugh, fuck, I don’t know. 1832 to?” 

“Wrong.” He sets the cards down next to him, looking at you in mock disappointment. In an instant, he attacks you with tickles, and your efforts to bat him away are fruitless. 

“This-this is what you get for not knowing when Brahms was born! Learn through punishment! 1833 to 1897, remember that next time!!” He collapses on top of you, burying his face in your neck, unrelenting. Yoongi sounds almost gleeful in your torture. 

You writhe under his touch, and for all the wrong reasons. 

For the first time in your life, you’re almost glad you’re ticklish. Your eyes roll back into your head, not of your own accord. It’s too much, the soft skin of his cheek pressed up against your neck, the warm weight of his body against yours, the way his legs cage you in. A moan slips in between your helpless giggles, and Yoongi doesn’t miss it. 

“Uhhh, what was that?” He doesn’t stop, merciless in his advance. “I didn’t know you liked tickling… like that.” He’s teasing you, now. He can’t hide his pleased grin. 

Between gasps, you manage to pant, “I… don’t…” 

“Then what? Tell me.” That’s when Yoongi relents, leaning back. He continues to straddle you, because he’s cruel like that. (And because he likes it too.)

“You’re just… ugh, I don’t know… so close.” In Yoongi’s eyes, you’re a study in debauchery. From your struggle, your hair is mussed, the hem of your shirt awry. Your cheeks are flushed, from embarrassment or from the tickling, you don’t know. Your chest frantically rises and falls, trying to regain your breath. 

You, on the other hand, feel fucking ridiculous. Contrary to popular belief, being on the recieving end of tickling is fucking physically exhausting. 

Yoongi is stuck on the hot and bothered look on your face, except for the hard look in your eye. You despise being tickled, even if it is Min Yoongi doing the tickling. He wonders what you’d look like if you were underneath him in… different circumstances. 

Would it compare? 

“I… I… I just…” You avert your gaze now, hiding your face behind your hands. You can’t stand to look at him right now. 

“Spill it, or I’ll go back to tickling you until you break.” He grabs your hands away from your face, pinning them next to your head. 

He really isn’t going to make this easy for you, is he. 

This is overwhelming. The eye contact is too much. The weight of his hands on your wrists, holding you down, is too much. The way his panting breath tickles the skin beneath your collar is too much. You’ve had a bad day, the voice in the back of your head whispers. He makes you forget how awful this semester has been. He makes you feel better. Make this day easier on yourself. Just give in. 

There’s no hiding it now, you concede. 

You shut your eyes, unable to face him. “It’s just… been a while.” 

“Uh-huh. Continue?” He places his hands back on your stomach, as if in warning. 

“Since uhhhh… I’ve done… anything… with anyone…” Your words hang heavy in the air. Your secret is out. 

He laughs. He really has the audacity to laugh. 

“Shut up! I’m just like, touch starved, okay?” You’re definitely just blushing out of embarrassment, at this point. 

Yoongi starts to ponder if he crossed too far of a line, but you continue anyway.  You huff, indignant and desperate to cover your ass. This is not how you ever imagined telling Yoongi you were ever interested in him, sexual or not. 

“Not everyone is like, the campus pussy magnet and gets to fuck whenever they want,” You say. 

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, I’m not the campus pussy magnet. We’re... not so different. I haven’t been with anyone, um, in a while.” Now Yoongi takes his turn to blush and stutter. He does that thing he always does when he’s nervous, runs a hand through his hair and lets it rest on the nape of his neck.  

“I find that hard to believe. No need to lie out of pity. Like, come on. Look at you. You’re all…” You gesture down his body, “And you have that whole vibe going on, and you’re tall, and you have good taste in cologne, and-and-and you play the piano , and ugh. You should know that by now.” You babble on. You’re not that good at keeping secrets, anyway. Might as well let the cat out of the bag while you’re at it. 

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but you’re not fazed. By now, you’re used to the long silences that elapse when you’re with him. You wait for him to talk first, just so you can discreetly enjoy the feeling of him straddling you for a little longer. You try to pass off the silence as you quietly fuming at him for calling out your lackluster sex life, but you’re really just trying get yourself together. 

Then he starts laughing. Again.  

“What are you laughing for now?” Your brow furrows in frustration. 

“Nothing, nothing, don’t be mad. I just didn’t think that tickling would be a turn on for you.” 

“It’s not!” 

“To be completely honest with you, you look like one of those really innocent soft girls on the outside but you’re actually like, into choking and have a secret sex dungeon.” He doesn’t seem to care that you’ve all but revealed your massive, terminal crush on him. 

You sigh, but you’re just glad he gave you something to fire back with. 

“You and I both know that the university dorms are too small for a sex dungeon, Yoongi. I can’t even have candles in my room. What sex dungeon is complete without candles?” 

“Oh, a devil in the details. The ambiance is important, I see…” That devious smile of his makes a comeback. 

“Oh, shut up. Give me the flashcards, four-eyes.” He relinquishes the flashcards, but he still continues to straddle you. 

“Woah, there’s no need to insult my glasses.”

You ignore him, desperate to move on from your momentary lapse in judgement. “Haydn?”

“1732 to 1809. What about music? Music must be important if you care about the ambiance. Answer my question.” 

You laugh to cover up how worked up you are. “Maybe you can find out after we finish reviewing. Scarlatti?” 

“1660 to 1725. What kind of music do you listen to? R&B, something sexy?” He sits up now, spurred on by your refusal to answer his questions. 

“Or do you listen to classical music then, too? Does Chopin get your blood flowing?” He’s being insufferable now.

You groan into the pillow. “Yoongiii, let’s focus.” 

“If it’s something like Liszt, I’m sure I have a couple recommendations.” 

Yoongi sits up straighter, waggles his eyebrows in a way you definitely shouldn’t find endearing. “Or, I could record something for you…” 

You snap. “Just, I don’t know, sometimes I listen to music?” Your attempts to stop the blushing are in vain, heat blooming across your cheeks and down your neck. It’s even harder to stop when it’s your embarrassingly short sexual history on the line. 

“I prefer dirty talk anyways…” You murmur under your breath, wishing he could just get the fuck off your case. The more he keeps talking about things like this, in that tone of voice, the harder it’s going to get to keep your ever-growing crush a secret. 

Still, some small part (let’s be honest, the monkey brain part of you) of you, the part of you that aches for him, wants to spur him on. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing! Nothing.” 

“Hmm… something about dirty talk?” Fuck, does Yoongi have a good ear. He smiles. He knows he’s gotten you now. 

Okay, you should probably admit to yourself that he’s flirting with you now. The touches, the holding you down, the insistence on pushing this tiny matter, it all adds up. And the math says that Min Yoongi is flirting with you. 

“Mmm, nothing.” You snuggle a little deeper into his bedsheets, playing coy.

“You know, like during sex? Don’t make me tickle you again, because I will stoop that low.” 

“I don’t remember saying that…” You mock-pretend to ponder his question, catch your bottom lip between your teeth. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his gaze fall downward. You know you’ve gotten him now. 

“Can you refresh my memory?” 

“Like… you know.” He shrugs. 

“I’m an auditory learner. Do you have an example?” 

“Hmm, let me think… I’ll tease you until you’re begging for me to touch you properly? Does that ring a bell for you?” 

“No…” You bring your hands to your face to cover up your blush, and because you can’t stand to look at him. Not when he’s talking to you like that, with that look in his eye, his hands on your body. “It doesn’t…” You laugh, even beneath his weight. 

He laughs. “I’m just teasing. You’re so cute when I get a rise out of you.” 

Oh. 

[equiuszahhak]

Loom —

Loom.. see marvus at tree. They are there, clearly disheveled, having BEEN looking since he's gone missing.

Marvus —    @pipewizzzzerddd

Marvus, who was in fact waiting at the other tree, eventually figures out where Loom is and climbs his way up from the garden to fetch. Big clown. Pretty clown. Ominously placid clown with his nose in his phone as he wordlessly offers Loom an arm to hold onto.

Loom —  

Equally wordless, exhausted and a little stinky, takes his arm.

Marvus —  

Marvus leads him back down to the garden to the Wytch Elm, and the fairy-meadow around it. He also, uh ... steps into the hollow? It's a pretty big tree, with a hole in-front that opens into nothingness below. Marvus clambers into what might very well be a bottomless pit with zero hesitation and just vanishes.

Loom —  

Honestly, loom is just so over everything. Wings splayed, they follow.

Another time, they will allow it to sink in how pretty and mysterious it all is.

Marvus —  

They might not necessarily be invited back, but they can commit it to memory.

A sudden sense of vertigo on all sides, the pull of gravity, Marvus in freefall beside them with his cane propped on his shoulder, unperturbed by their Plummeting.

Suddenly they're both standing on soft loamy earth, a musky breeze coming off the nearby swamp, a smoggy dark-green sky overhead.

"Keep ur head down + ur handz 2 urself. Don't touch nethin."

He starts off down a little wooded path, and beckons for Loom to follow.

Loom — 

They nod, and listen. Their fall may have been more of a glide, should physics permit. Loom glances to him, and their eyes follow the scent on their nose, to the direction the wind blows.

Following Marvus, they become a little shorter with each step, as to stay better hidden.

Marvus —  

Marvus leads them out of the woods, and into a clearing filled with tents. Large vintage circus tents, carts bursting with popcorn, bubbling vats of something that smells like very cheap soda, all manned by upright mannequins. Some mill about, carrying things, some are clearning ... some are just sort of standing there, limp like a cut puppet.

He weaves between tents until they open into a little shantytown made of circus-wagons, and up to the largest one. With a tap of his cane, and a little burst of runes across the doorframe, it swings open.

"Find sumplace 2 sit down. But also don't touch nethin. Ur butt can touch the chair but don't touch nethin else."

Loom — 

They look to him, shifty eyed. Rung with dark blue, from lack of sleep and all the crying. To far to argue now.

"Seems dead here." Said under breath, and they sit. Looking around, the entire place seems fake. That, or just as tired. Like souls who'd eaten the faes food. 

Tavros, how he loves the fairies. But he has to come home. 

He has to.

Marvus — 

"Motherfxcker we're all dead AF here, sh."

It's harder to percieve the parts of it that are alive, but dead is accurate. Marvus HIMSELF is, technically, dead. The cart is a mishmash of papers and knocked-over perfume and dirty dishes. He pushes through some of the velvety chairs to snatch up a Large Orb from his desk; crystalline and foggy, swirling with multicolored smoke the moment he picks it up, shaking it with a croon so the swirling smoke can fill it evenly. 

Marvus's trailer is kind of a dump, but it's a comfortable dump. Stained glass windows. Green fire crackling merrily in the little pipe-stove in the corner. The whole place smells a little of Tavros, faintly.

The Faerie That Knows Where He Is lifts his gazing-ball, and leans on the desk.

"gimme ur word ur not goin' 2 follow him."

Loom —  

Anything. They can lie, sure. They can fly off, and scruff him by the bulging muscle of his neck and bring him home. But that is obviously not the place he wants to be right now - 

Looms arms have been crossed, and cross tighter. They clutch tight to their arms, bruised and white knuckled.

"I'm not going to abandon him, either." They whisper, leg jostling from side to side, nervous energy and fear, paranoia, another dead moirail, friend, lover, etc etc.

"Just. Show me. I just need to see him." Hand at the side of their face, elbow rested on the other arm, tears welling as lips purse. They have not, and do not make eye contact.

Marvus — 

Marvus watches Loom, and something in his face twists a little. Something like pity, gone a moment later as he shrugs.

"Ur gonna have 2 learn 2 trust him eventually homie."

He exhales, slow, and lifts the orb. It teeters light-as-a-feather on his clawed fingertips, and his lashes flutter as he lolls his head to the side, watching the smoke swirl. Magyckz™️ fill the air like a sigh, a buzzing against the back of the neck as he wrings Vision from Void.

Whatever the hell kinda incantation just came out of his mouth, it was incomprehensible.

It's much too fuzzy to tell what's going on, but for a split second--before Tavros's glamours can obscure it again--a gap in the smoke reveals @Tavros 

(Unfortunately, it is almost impossible to discern a location.)

Tavros is peacefully asleep, well-protected as a massive catlike beast grooms the top of his head with an equally massive rasped tongue. A few babies--manticore cubs, presumably--bumble around him, either dozing in Tav's arms or gnawing on his shoelaces.

Tavros —

A sleepy cozy Tavros, nestled into the motherbeast's fur. He feels Safe, and the glamours hiding him are a little weaker than before. He's just blurry, hard to focus in on

Loom —  

"Trust isn't the issue."

As tense as they had been, Loom's leg slows to metronome. Slow, but there. The smoke wreathes everything, and they feel the surrounding void. 

Through it, they feel a sense of Tavros. This... This helps. 

Mouth covered, they finally let it out.

Okay, that's a lie! Tears steam but they're quick to wipe them away, heat blue in their face. A deep, Shakey breath, and composure is back. Volte-face.

They just nod. Stand. "Thank you."

Marvus —  

Marvus will take their word for it--Tavros is a big boy who has taken care of himself ... althoug Marvus may or may not have saved his life twice, yesterday. Who's counting? Marvus is gonna set anyone who counts on fire. (Magefire, of course.)

Finding Tavros is still out of the question at the moment, so they're gonna have to trust that he's Staying Safe--and that Marvus is keeping him safe, too. The crystal goes dark, and Marvus tosses it back onto the desk-chair with a pffthunk.

Marvus pulls a line of colorful scarves from the lapel of his jacket, and offers the end to Loom to blow their nose and wipe their eyes.

Loom —  

They look, and...

Their expression softens. 

Angry. They're angry, but relieved. It isn't fair. "It's funny. You get him to yourself again, after all." A weak laugh, as they accept the scarf. 

Dab, dab, slow. A little void magic, and the snotty mess is clean when they hand it back to Marvus. 

"I'll see myself out."

Marvus —  

"idk, i think da manticore has a monopoly rn," He wrinkles his nose, snapping his fingers. The scarves withdraw into his coat with a thwik!

"u want me 2 walk u baque 2 da tree?"

Loom —

That's a neat trick. 

Loom solomnly shakes their head, dissolving into their own void. They can get home that way.  And-- have a way back.

Marvus — 

Marvus blinks, alone in his trailer once more, and snorts.

"damn yall pessimistic af."

He settles back into his velvet chair, plucking a long black feather from his desk-drawer, and brushes his lips against it.

Off in slumberland somewhere in the bogs of Lopside, Tavros recieves a Liddle Kiss.

[akvtsuki-ari]

i didnt see it on a prompt list.... but idk if ur comfy i could really go for some cockwarming with sub!spencer and he’s just really in love w reader and like in awe of how someone can be so perfect for him idk just fluffy and cute but kinda smutty obvs

A/n: my pure excitement when I get sub!spencer requests....... your mind....

____

He didn’t have enough words in any language to describe how head over heels in love with you he was. He was so in love, so disgustingly, stupidly, and madly in love with every single action that you did he felt like he was going to fall apart. Being in subspace certainly didn’t help, you were carefully playing with his affectionate heart by just existing.

You were so wet, and tight around Spencer. You were sitting lazily in his lap, his cock fully inside of you but totally unmoving as you simply play with your phone or do something else mindless over Spencer’s shoulder. He’s cum dry more time than he’s comfortable then admitting, from you just sitting on his dick and ignoring him. Spencer was so distracted by your ownership over him, he had no thoughts in his head st all. You finally put your phone down and wrap your arms around Spencer’s neck kissing him slow.

He can feel every little adjustment. Every little clench you do around his lengths and your lazy grinding hips that move whenever they like. Spencer was so fucked out even though he wasn’t really doing that in the first place. He was delighted by the feeling of your hands on the side of his face, kissing him gently.

“You’re so pretty,” you comment earnestly. Spencer felt so lucky, you made him feel pretty in the right way. You always compared him to artwork, and then followed by saying you’d love to pin him to a wall. You were perfect for him.

“Miss, I love you,” Spencer’s submission bounces around in his voice. You smile softly, grinding on his cock for a few seconds. You hear a broken moan fall from his lips and smile.

“I love you too pretty boy,” you mumble out warmly.

“Can I touch you miss?,” Spencer asks softly. You place a small and soft kiss on his forehead, brushing the hair out of his face.

“Go ahead my love,” you say softly. Spencer Can feeling you when you shift. He immediately goes to wrap his arms around your waist to hold you closely, too scared to let you go. You could feel the adorable exhaustion he had, just barely holding up.

“You’re so needy,” you say softly. Spencer whines into your shoulder, because you were goddamn right. You feel a heartbeat in your clit as you feel Spencer twitch inside of you. Your voice is a broken moan as you do and Spencer is pleased with him himself. Spencer giggles in your ear.

“I really do love you,” Spencer’s says with such an adorable soft tone. You smile, placing random kisses all over his expression. He giggles again.

“I really love you too, my pretty little submissive angel,” you say softly.

For the first time in forever, Spencer feels you lift your hips up. His voice aches.

“Now hold still for me, okay?,”